


Salt & Obsidian

by AnnettePoudre



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU after OotP, F/M, Horror, Multi, Romance, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M, in this house we stan strong male friendships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 86,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26904127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnettePoudre/pseuds/AnnettePoudre
Summary: The Golden Trio is caught by the Headmaster at Grimmauld Place trying to leave on their own horcrux hunt. Angered by their dissension, the trio is broken up and sent away on individual missions. Hermione is sent to an ancient manor in the north of France owned by the most unlikely family: LeStrange. Her mission is to catalog and research the largest wizarding library in all of Europe. However, with uncooperative house elves, strange noises outside her door, and no civilization for miles around, will she be able to complete her mission and keep her sanity? Isolation and madness keeps driving her closer to the master of the house, and secrets that should have stayed lost are starting to surface.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Rabastan Lestrange, Hermione Granger & Rodolphus Lestrange
Comments: 97
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a spooky October story~
> 
> In the last story I wrote (The Mating Sickness) I mentioned that the LeStrange family were Antique dealers in Europe, and so I decided to explore that thread a bit more. I have used both of them in many stories before, usually as supporting characters, and after re-reading Jane Eyre I knew that I needed to give Rodolphus and Rabastan their own story with that hint of Charlotte Bronte brooding. 
> 
> If we've been together before, you know that I try not to rush into relationships (not always successfully) and this is no exception. The story is split into parts, with part one completed at a even 16,000 as of writing. I am hoping to complete the story (and complete posting the story) by Halloween, but I never outline my plot, so we will see where these men take us.
> 
> Leave a comment if you like it, or if you don't, or what your favorite fall food is~ I hope we can enjoy together.

The house cut into the late afternoon sky, towering and foreboding, the brick of the manor sharp and grey as she stood at the overgrown gates, she had her wand, of course, her bag, of course, anxiety, of course, but Dumbledore had said that it was her task to undertake, and so she was here, of course.

A timid elf stood on the other side of the gates, surveying her seriously “You are the guests of the masters?”

“I am.” Hermione replied.

“Mudblood.”

“I am.”

“I am Bessie, Miss Mudblood.”

“Thank you Bessie,” Hermione swallowed her contempt for the term, knowing that the elf probably did not know what it meant, or if it did, it was a victim of its masters rather than any ill intent.

The gate opened, only slightly, and Hermione slipped in and began to follow Bessie up the long drive, gravel overgrown with moss and lichen since they were close to the shores of Ault in Northern France. The English Channel lapped away at shores she could not see, the only signs that they were near water at all were the birds, and the salt in the air.

“And your masters?”

“Masters are not here, England, masters always in England since the older young master married Missy Bella. Old mistress never recovered.”

“From the wedding?”

“From the loss.”

It was clear that no humans lived in this manor any longer, which is probably why Dumbledore had seen fit to send her alone despite Harry and Ron’s ardent protests. It was her area of expertise, but when he had cheerfully told the entire Order her mission to catalog in one of the largest and most ancient libraries on the continent, he had _not_ told anyone that the library sat in the ancient home of LeStrange. He had not told her until she was handed the portkey twenty minutes prior to now.

Would she still have gone knowing the home owners? She stumbled on a rock in the drive and the elf gave her a withering look. “We make Miss mudblood dinner, and then she will rest. Miss Mudblood trips on her feet, Miss mudblood tired.”

Hermione felt anger and immediately tried to mitigate it to some kind of pity of what kind of upbringing the elves must have had to speak this way to her. They deserved her compassion, not her ire. “Thank you Bessie.”  
They passed into the shadow of the manor. A majority of it was being quickly consumed by ivy and windows were covered with leaves, the glow of candlelight could be seen through the greenery and she could see a small kitchen garden off to the side and the remnants of some fencing for horses. How long had it been since the last person had come here? Twenty years? Forty? She wasn’t sure how old the LeStrange's were.

A wooden door that was hidden in the leaves opened and another elf holding a wooden spoon that was comically large compared to its small body stepped out, giving Hermione a stare that left her feeling naked in the kitchen garden amongst the rosemary.

“The master’s guest?”

“I am.” Hermione affirmed

Dinner was served on the chopping table in the kitchen, which was comically low and so Hermione sat on the floor to eat. The elves watched her eat, a mixture of french pastries, cheeses and meats, food that was not unsettling and they did not ask any questions, and the house made no noise save for the boiling away of water in the tea kettle, and a fire that was popping away happily in the stove. 

“I am being called Alice, and this is being called Bessie, one more elf will serve you Pierrot. Pierrot only French, no English.” The older elf said serving her tea with a clatter “Older Master says that Miss is only to be in the library, no snooping about.”

“Thank you, Alice.” Hermione forced some kindness in her tone but was quickly running out of patience and pity for the elves that were going to be her constant companions this fall.

Bessie, the younger of the two, began to levitate the tea set and disappeared out of the kitchen, Alice turned away from her and went back to tending the fire. The hallways in the home were dark, the furniture all covered in dust cloths as they passed a few open rooms, the portraits also were covered in the same white sheets that gave the home the feeling that it had well and truly died before Hermione had arrived.

She was shown a small guest room that reminded her of her dormitory in Hogwarts with a window overlooking the cliffs and some of the shore further away from the estate and the elf said nothing before shutting the door to her room, leaving her in silence. The only noise was the _pop_ of house elf apparition and her own breathing.

She sat down on the small single bed that was given to her and stared out the window, watching the sky darken, curls of steam from her tea cup fogging the window as the fall chill settled into the rooms. The shadows in the room grew, reaching for her, the silence suffocating her and finally Hermione sipped on cold tea.

She knew the reason why Dumbledore had put her in France, and it was not because she was well suited to catalog a library, it was because of Harry, and Harry’s plan that Harry thought no one knew.

The headmaster knew of Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s plan to escape and look for the remaining horcrux without the order. The only way to keep Harry within the safety of the Order was to cut apart the golden trio, with Hermione being the first to go. She wondered idly if Ron also would be sent to some distant location, keeping Harry isolated and safe with the headmaster.

A vindictive spirit grew within her, wondering why it was so important for the headmaster to keep Harry so close to him, and shoving her firmly off into enemy territory. Was she not more vulnerable as a muggleborn than Harry?

Hermione finally set her tea down and laid down in the dark room, lighting a small candle to keep the thoughts at bay.

Professor Snape and the Headmaster gave her an oath that one of the LeStranges had been spying for them, but upon her arrival here, isolated from everyone she knew, she turned the thought over about what it meant to be a spy, and if they could fool Voldemort, what more would it take to fool a Headmaster?

She slipped under the covers, not bothering to change out of her jeans and a long sleeved shirt she had worn here, curling up on her side to look out the window. The candle made the shadows dance on the walls, and she felt the crushing loneliness of the estate settle in on her.

Hermione hid her face as she cried in the pillows, hoping to muffle any sounds from the elves. She did not want their pity, or to confirm that the mudblood in their house was weak.  
  


* * *

  
Bessie came to visit her in the morning, curling her lip at Hermione’s slept-in clothes, but Hermione figured that if no one was going to see her but elves, what did it matter what she wore? A quick cleansing spell and she was ready to tackle the day. The halls were dusty and crowded with artefacts in glass cases and on top of them. The only sound were footsteps on wood, and the flutter of dust cloths as they wound deeper into the LeStrange estate.

She was led to a small library crowded with books, some of which were simply stacked on tables, near a sitting area. It was approximately the same size as the library at Grimmauld place. “This is the library?”  
“Miss Mudblood, this is a sitting room.” The elf replied, annoyed at the suggestion. “Library is this way.” The elf went deeper into the sitting room and behind a set of three shelves all neatly lined up as it would be in Hogwarts she saw a wooden paneled door with a tarnished golden door knob.

The elf reached for it and then stopped when it’s gnarled hands were a few inches away and twitched its ears. “Bessie leaves now.”

And then Hermione was alone with the door. She reached for it instead, wondering if there was warding or some magic that prevented the elf, but it opened smoothly into the darkness behind it, and she stepped into the passage, wielding her wand and whispering “ _Lumos_.”

Her wand tip glowed and she began to descend stone stairs into oblivion, wondering what exactly she was going _towards_. As she walked, her sensible mary-janes clacking off of the stone, there was a dull orange glow from further in the darkness. “There probably isn't even a library, at the end of this.” She said, her voice echoed off of walls she could not see.

Another ten minutes in darkness before she reached the orange light, it was a weakly lit sconce in front of an older wooden door, this one made of large planks of wood, laid vertical, a wrought iron handle at one end.

“Insanity.” Hermione muttered, pulling on the handle, once with no avail and then twice, it gave away unwillingly, caught on some stone or the like. It scraped against the floor to finally reveal what she had been searching for.

Her breath was stolen from her lungs, her knees felt weak and she leaned on the door frame. In what appeared to be an ancient system of caves was a cavernous and _endless_ library that stretched from floor to the arched stone ceilings, its height was the same height as the house that sat above them, stone pillars of books wrapped around what used to be stalagmites peppered around the library, the floors smooth polished stone that reflected the dim light that came from windows she could not yet see.

She could see artifacts, as the ones she had seen upstairs peppered around in glass cases that were topped with a fine layer of dust, forgotten to time, ancient books and scrolls were stacked every which way, large tapestries in rich golds and greens hung from the walls, depicting everything from religious iconography to magical creatures.

She walked, her fingers tracing the books to one side of her, the shelves followed the bends in the cave walls and so did she, and finally Hermione turned a corner to see where the light was coming from, and she was not sure if it was magic or _real_. Yellow tinted glass that stretched far above her depicted the mouth sea cave, water churled around it, six feet of it underwater, framed by the entrance of the cave, and the sunny fall skies over the English Channel spread out before her.

Hermione turned away from the windows and finally could see the vastness of the library she was tasked with. As far as the light would reach there were books, _books_.

She sat down on a well worn velvet chair and just basked in the amount of knowledge that had been forgotten in this estate.

Bessie came down to visit her at dusk, and Hermione realized the day had passed with no meaningful research, instead she was reading a translated scroll on ancient druidic rituals in France during the turn of the first millennia. 

“Miss Mudblood is to come for dinner.”  
  
“I can take dinner here, Bessie.” Hermione waved absentmindedly, not sure if she wanted to take the half hour walk back up to the kitchens.

“Miss Mudblood is to come for dinner.” Bessie repeated and Hermione looked up from the scroll at the house elf.

“I see.” Hermione said and rolled the scroll back up, gently placing it with the others that were haphazardly piled on a shelf.

She ate in the kitchens by herself, neither of the elves there to watch over her and make sure that she didn’t steal anything, another plate of bread, meat, and cheese, all cold. She wondered if elves took requests, but as the night waned on, she realized there were no elves to make requests to. She was alone in the daunting, dead manor, the dust cloths were the only movement she saw to detect there was anything still living, and they only moved in response to her, reaching for her as she passed.

Hermione sat down in her room, warming the tea set from the night before and filling it with hot water. Bessie was nowhere to be seen. So she drank a mug of hot water while watching the sky darken again.

As she finished her mug she turned to light her candle when she heard something move outside her door, the sound of bare feet on wood, a scratch against hardwood.

“Bessie?” Hermione asked, setting her empty mug down and picking up her wand, waving the incantation for _lumos_ and being rewarded with a glow from the tip.

She opened the door expecting to see a disapproving house elf, but instead saw nothing but darkness, her wand lit the hanging cloths across the hall to see they were still swaying in some unknown breeze. There were no sounds of retreating footsteps, of house elf apparition, or of breathing other than her own.

The fear that she may not truly be alone in the house passed her mind once or twice, but she did not acknowledge it, instead she closed her door and cast a ward on it. It glowed a faint red and she sat back down on the bed, staring at the door, _willing_ for the noise to occur again.

It did not, and a quick tempus said it was inching past one in the morning, whatever had made the noise was likely to be asleep.

Her sleep was fitful, as her subconscious made monsters in her dreams of the masters that owned this estate, laughter from a deranged Bellatrix LeStrange haunted her dreams, Sirius’ death was fresh on her mind, and her scar from the battle ached when she woke.  
  


* * *

  
Running on a few hours of sleep she stepped into the small kitchen garden after a lonely breakfast, some croissants that were slightly stale, butter and preserves. It would be seven more days before anyone would make contact with her by owl from The Order to “assess” her progress, but she wasn’t even quite sure what progress she was supposed to be making in the vast library. To catalog such a vast collection wasn’t a task for the Order during wartime, it wasn’t a task Hermione believed she could do within her lifetime either.

Clouds crowded the sky, threatening rain but never making good on their threats, a cold autumn wind replaced the warmth of the day before, shocking her into taking a walk away from the house that felt like it was making her sick. She was sure, after she crested a hill behind the house, finally seeing the choppy waters of the English channel, that the house had some kind of dark magic that made her feel sick. She wrapped her arms around herself and faced England, homesickness mingled with the wind, wondering if she should demand to go back to London to help Harry.

Damn Harry for not learning Occlumency, and damn Dumbledore for preying on him. She walked along the cliffs that lined the edge of the grounds, looking down at the thin line of sand that signaled the last of France. Waves crashed on the shore and she continued to make her way further from the house. Her feet carried her away from the manor as a warning, and her thoughts continued to swirl around Harry and the prophecy. How was she going to help him win if she was an invalid out in France? Would there be some magics detailed in the caves that would help her get back to him? Could she learn to apparate across the channel?

She faced England again and tried to think of a million ways to just _leave_ , and finally she decided if she made her way to a muggle village nearby she could at least get some hot food and figure it out. There had to be at least a small fishing port somewhere on this coast, and it would be relatively easy to find her way back, there was no missing LeStrange’s gaudy imposing estate on the barren France coast.

Pleased with her new plan of action, and hoping to find some sign of life before it began to rain, she set off with a renewed vigor down the coast. Hot food, some tea, and some space from the dark magic in that house, she was sure to be back in London before the end of the week.

As she walked down the coast she saw a small black dot of another human being further down, he kept hunching over, laying his hand down on the ground near the cliffside and then standing back up before walking six meters and hunching down again. Maybe he was a fisherman from nearby?

Hermione caught up to him finally with a smile. He was older, and much taller than her, he had dark curly hair that was sticking to his face, wet from the sea air. He had dark eyes that she almost mistook for black.

She steeled herself, time to break out her French which she had learned six years ago for a holiday with her parents. “Pardonnez-mois, Je...J’ai...Je suis-”

The man barked in laughter and pushed his hair away from his face “You’re from England?”

“I am from England.” She breathed in relief “You must be from a village nearby.”  
  
The man looked over her shoulder briefly and then behind him “There is one.”

“How far of a walk?” She asked “Far?”

“An hour or so.” 

She had already walked two or three hours to get this far, so the nearest settlement was four hours away from the dreary manor. It mattered little, once she was gone, she would not go back. “Where have you walked from?” He asked

She looked up at the man in suspicion “I am staying at a manor with friends along the coast.”

“Up towards Belle-Dunne?” He motioned behind her.  
  
“Yeah, and they’re expecting me back this evening.” She lied and gave him a weak smile, maybe there was a reason he was alone in the middle of nowhere. “We just ran out of food, I’m just going shopping in town.” She walked past him down towards the village that he had said was down along the coast.

“Not good hosts then.” He called.

She turned over her shoulder at him “Not particularly.”

The rain held for the remainder of her walk and she found a very small fishing port that was more a “handful of buildings” than a port, and unfortunately for a very hungry, and very tired Hermione, the handful of buildings in question did not take her British pound notes that she had on her, and the wizarding money was out of the question.

She sat on a bench outside a small grocer and stared at the sea, cursing herself for not bringing French money with her _to France_.

It was dark when she returned, painfully hungry, and painfully tired, she entered the kitchens quietly and was surprised to see the disapproving eyes of Alice staring back at her. “Food?”

“Miss Mudblood is late.” Alice said as three or four pans cleaned themselves in front of her. “Food is done. Miss Mudblood is to sit in the drawing room, maybe Miss Mudblood can have some bread.”

“Fine, bread.” Hermione snapped, pushing the door open angrily, hunger and frustration causing tears to spring to her eyes. She was stupid for thinking she could fix this situation with barely any plans and no money, completely isolated and unaware of even where she _was_ in France besides near England.

She turned towards the sitting room and then ran into _something_ hard and she stumbled backwards to look up at what she had hit, to see a man, a mere shadow in the dark halls tower before her.

“English girl.” The man said, stepping backwards into a lit doorway, and she recognized his curls instantly.

She whipped out her wand and held it towards him “How did you get in here?”

A smile that made her insides churn and he stepped back into the sitting room, “I walked in.”

So much for exploitation of labor, these elves barely did any labor at all. Hermione stepped towards him “Then leave, I am a very dangerous person.”

He let out that bark of laughter “Me too, Miss-”

“You do not need my name.” Hermione said and pressed her wand tip into his chest “You need to leave before my friends return, and I promise you, that they are _far_ more dangerous than me.”

The man’s hands went up “You must have some dangerous friends, let’s sit and wait for them.”

Caught in her lie she wondered what she could do, the man had given her no indication if he was muggle or magic. If she hexed a muggle, she was sure that France had its own misuse of magic office, and if he was magic, her only chance against him was to take him by surprise because she was pants at dueling. The odds were not in her favor.

They both stepped into the sitting room and he pulled a dust cloth off an overly ornate chair with gold inlay and purple velvet that had seen better days. “Come in, come in.” He said “Let’s get comfortable while we wait for your dangerous friends.”

He bent over and tended to the fire, poking it and stirring up the ashes “I should introduce myself, before your friends come, so you can know who to tell them to attack.”

“Don’t expect me to give you the same courtesy.”

“I do not have many dangerous friends like you.” He said and sat in a matching chair to hers near the fire. “I am Rodolphus LeStrange, and this storage closet is Le Tourmont.”

Hermione stilled, her fight or flight response activated and it was screaming to _flight_ but not one cell in her body, not one muscle was moving. She couldn’t speak, she could only stare.

“He said you wouldn’t be here.”

“ _He_ says a lot of things, but irregardless, the wards needed to be reset.” Rodolphus looked at the fire as he spoke, not bothering to acknowledge her.

Bessie handed her a plate with the end of a baguette and some butter and he glared at the elf.

“Is this what you have been feeding her?” He snapped, irritable, clearly jittery by the elf’s presence or by hers.

“Miss Mudblood is a servant, eats servant food.” Bessie said proudly “Bessie can eat, Alice can eat, Pierrot can eat, Miss Mudblood can eat.”

“Thank you Bessie, for saving me some bread” Hermione said quietly, afraid of his anger, towards her, and the elves that she presently hated.

“If she is not fed within the hour, I will see to it that you’re all given socks, and I will turn you out before midnight.”

Bessie’s ears fell.

“It’s not necessary, I missed dinner.” She defended the elf but Bessie disappeared quickly.

“If they are not treating you the way you want to be treated, then _make_ them treat you the way you want to be treated. If walking eight hours for food is an excuse for not telling elves to do their jobs, then you are perhaps the stupidest witch I have met on this continent and the next.”

Hermione flushed red “Courtesy is not a _crime_ . If your elves do not have access to food and fresh bread, then it is the fault of their _master,_ not them.”

Rodolphus thinned his lips out and Hermione caught a flash of the anger that befit the man who had tortured Neville’s parents. “I am not poor, and no expense was _spared_ to put you here, and you can tell _him_ that as well. I made good on my promise and he will make good on his.” Rodolphus said angrily, twitching slightly for his wand before grabbing the chair instead, checking himself and his anger at the last moment.

Suddenly food appeared on a clothed table, course after course, chicken, duck, fresh vegetables and tea. All three elves appeared in a line, including a young elf that she had not seen and assumed it was Pierrot. “Miss Mudblood’s food.” Alice said, her ears bent

“Miss Mudblood,” It somehow stung worse when it came from the man sitting across from her “Is tasked with a _job_ but is _not_ a servant. You are dismissed.”

She wanted to refuse the food and eat the end of the baguette that was harder than Hagrid’s rock cakes, but her stomach refused to acquiesce and she was sitting on the floor eating chicken within moments.

Rodolphus, also sat across from her on the floor in front of the dusty table and stared at her critically for a moment. “You know who I am.”

“I do.” She said, her voice cracked but she tried to keep her face passive.

“And you still would insult me in my own house.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed “Storage closet.”

Rodolphus made a strangled noise and stood up quickly, leaving her alone to eat, and Hermione rather preferred it that way. The tea tasted divine and she stole one or two tea bags and wrapped them carefully in a napkin lest the elves decide to consider her a servant again once he had gone. Alone with the fire, the food tasted dusty, her thoughts consumed by when Rodolphus would come back to kill her.

She walked back with her soggy napkin of tea bags through the dusty palatial hallways, waiting for the master of the manor to come back and attack her, she wondered what Dumbledore had promised Voldemort’s second in command in order to get him to turn on his master and his wife. She did not see Bellatrix for some reason turning her back on the Dark Lord for any reason whatsoever.

She turned the corner into her small closet of a room in what he called his large storage closet and closed the door, warding it, and fell asleep staring at the red wards, her wand in hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Dumbledore had promised, Hermione seethed on her way down into the palatial cavern library, he had  _ promised _ that the home owners would never be there during her stay. Yet, when she came down for her breakfast, she caught sight of Rodolphus leaving the kitchens, a ghost in black that made no acknowledgement, but she could  _ hear _ him moving about the manor, his footsteps, or the signs of movement from sheets that waved to the master of the manor.

The library greeted her with an echoing silence, a breeze from somewhere deeper in the library blew past her gently and she ascended the stairs and saw that she was not the last person to have been in here, three books stacked neatly on a side table near the towering windows. She traced her finger over the cover of the top book, a non-descript black journal with leather binding that had seen better days.

Was Rodolphus also in the library today? She could hear no one other than herself, but the library was vast, there was no telling if he was deep within the darkness that the caves afforded, even during her first day she had not explored anywhere that was not lit by the giant windows before her.

The books all turned out to be ledgers, dating back hundreds of years, LeStrange family finances, some were just daily expenses and then others were large sums for items, jewelry, furniture, pottery, and the like. She assumed that the family were either very rich, or collectors of some sort with the amount spent on artworks in the 1790s. Was  _ this _ what she was supposed to be researching here? Did they possess some kind of antique weapon to kill the Dark Lord? Did Rodolphus know it? She looked up at the water that was ebbing and flowing in front of her, a stray fish or two swam by.

On the day she was sent here Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape had told her very little of the mission, only that she was needed to “research and catalog” at the library of one of their “most trusted”. She snorted at the way they had hedged around  _ who _ the most trusted was until the portkey was in her hands and she was trapped in the kitchen of Grimmauld place with them. 

Professor Snape would contact her in seven days to check up on her progress, but in the urgent meeting before the portkey was activated, there was no mention of what, or why. She could only assume it’s because she was supposed to  _ know _ what or why already and the Headmaster wasn’t wasting time in repeating information she already knew.

Hermione did not know, and as she scanned the ledgers again, flipping the pages, hoping some line would jump out at her. Looking for some scribbling that told her if the Master of the house was trying to hide something, or help her. None appeared. Daily minutiae, parties, food, clothes, another large expenditure on  _ Books - Germanic  _ which seemed to make up a majority of this era of the LeStrange history in the first two decades of the 1800s. She closed the ledger and began to walk into the library, deciding to see how deep it went, and to what end it went. The light faded from the outside and she lit a  _ lumos _ only to have small sconces on the wall respond to her magic, lighting themselves in her immediate area, illuminating books, rooms, and glittering gold in the back of the caves, and still she went deeper.

She paused at a room that glowed on it’s own, not an orange light of fire, but a dim white, it spilled out onto the polished stone floor, and she looked inside it to see a room full of jars of light, different shapes, sizes, and age. Each jar held a small silver light, suspended in unseen fluid, if there was indeed fluid at all. In the middle of the room there was a stone basin, and she recognized it from her own brief stunt at obliviation: memories.

The thought of her parents, or perhaps the room, made her ill, and so she passed by it without entering. If she had thought to enter, she would have realized she was not alone. A dark figure was sitting in an unseen chair, and he followed her.

Deeper in the caves, which were so quiet it made her ears ring, she found less and less books and more and more scrolls, jars, and tablets, some pottery with inscriptions, slats of wood with runes, and metal orbs that spun by no magic. At the end was a door, made of polished obsidian inlaid into the cave walls.

The magic within the room practically  _ sung _ when she got close enough, in the silence of the caves it was no more than a whisper, a siren’s call to bring her closer to the mirror like stone, she could see her shadow in the surface, her hand moving out to push on it, with no handle, there was no indication that there was any door here at all. This must be it, the room that she must research, whatever was within was strong and ancient.

The song summoned her, it’s magic wrapping her in warmth and pulling her closer, begging her to come nearer, to just  _ touch _ the door and she would have what she needed to leave. Anything she needed to leave.

“Leave it.” A voice said behind her, yanking her backwards forcefully.

She screamed, her wand clattering to the floor as she wrenched away from whatever was touching her, bumping into a table holding an ancient tome that was the size of her torso and watching it clatter to the floor next to her with an echoing thud.

“Stay away from that door.” Rodolphus said harshly.

“What is in it?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with.” He said and there was a blue glow of wards being settled into the back of the cavern “Try again, and the consequences will be dire.”

“Instead of telling me, you’ll set wards to kill me instead?” Hermione asked, picking herself off the floor.

“If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead.” Rodolphus menaced, levitating the book back onto the table.

In the light of the lumos, the master of the house looked like the devil himself, his face was shadowed in sharp angles and harsh light, his hair wild black curls, like black snakes, stuck everywhere. His eyes moved away from the book to her and Hermione felt her heart stop.

“This isn’t school, there is darkness in this library.” He said and lowered his wand “Seek it, if you wish. There are no rules to break.”

“I will not.” Hermione shot back “I have a job to do. I am not here to make the same mistakes as  _ others _ .”

He hissed angrily at her accusation “Smart mouth.”

She snorted and crossed her arms, her wand tightly in her hand. Her eyes moved towards the hallway back towards the library, gesturing for him to go.

Rodolphus stared at her for a moment before turning to leave, his feet, she realized were silenced, the only noise was the flutter of his cape, which explained why she hadn’t heard him mucking around in the library with her.

She wished she had known that it would be her last human contact for the next five days, or she would have drawn it out longer. As she didn’t, she rolled her eyes and turned to the tome behind her that she had knocked over and realized it was a library catalog.  
  


* * *

If you had asked Hermione Granger how she anticipated spending her final year as a Hogwarts student during the war, there were a lot of answers she could surmise. Head girl, a given. Highest NEWTs in Hogwarts History, an obvious goal. Study plans, a red headed boyfriend holding her hand at Hogsmeade, quiet afternoons researching possible apprenticeships, and the leaving feast where they announced her as the valedictorian. 

Possible candidate for Hogwarts valedictorian, head girl, and maybe future Mrs. Weasley was instead trying to reassemble a star gauge she had found broken in one of the caverns that seemed to be specifically designed  _ for _ it. Was this her research project for The Order? She doubted it. With no contact from anyone, a day past the time they had said they would come find her she was beginning to realize that this was not a mission as much as a prison sentence.

Rodolphus had left the house after the incident with the obsidian door, leaving her alone with the elves who were now very wary of her, but the two tea bags she had stolen from a pot at dinner one day had become unneeded as she had fresh tea often.

It was when the gauge was almost re-assembled that Bessie came to visit, a distant  _ pop _ followed by the smack of bare feet against polished stone. 

“Miss Mudblood has a visitor.”

The name no longer had a sting to it, Hermione laid down the two rings of runes she was trying to align and stood up, dusting herself off and making the long walk back up into the main house.

“Miss Mudblood to see you sir.” Bessie announced, bowing lowly before winking out of existence.

Professor Snape was staring at the fire, and sitting in one of the two uncovered chairs in the sitting room with a steaming pot of tea.

“Miss Granger,” He acknowledged, sipping his tea in such a delicate fine tea cup she was surprised that this manor had such fineries as she was often given stone and earthenware to eat from.

“Professor,” She sat down, unaccustomed to anyone saying her name, to speak felt strange after not speaking to anyone for days.

“I see the hospitality at Le Tourmont is lacking.” He sneered at the elf who was watching them from the doorway, and Alice too, disappeared.

Quick to defend the helpless, Hermione spoke up. “It’s not their fault, I am a visitor.”

“As am I,” He said, and handed her a battered, thin book “This is your project.”

She looked down at it  _ Tales of the Beetle and the Bard _ was written in gold filigree that had been since redrawn with some kind of gold ink that had smudged. The drawings on the cover had all but faded. “What news from The Order?”

“None,” Professor Snape said and stared down at his tea cup for a moment “Miss Granger, as your professor, and not a fellow Order member, I would  _ advise _ you to find comfort in your stay here.”

Her heart fell into her feet “Sir?”

“I know not what trouble you and your  _ compatriots _ have caused, but this is not a temporary accommodation.” The professor looked at her and for the first time she felt she had been seen, and the danger of her situation acknowledged. “The home owners are under oath not to let harm come to you.”

“From them? Or from others?”

“From harm, as long as you reside here.” Professor sat his tea cup down on the cloth covered end table. “The LeStrange family is not loyal to the Order, but they will bend to the Order.”

He stood up “I will return in seven days time, I care little for this project.” He said gesturing to the book she now held.

Hermione stood up, her fingers white around the thin book, trying to control her anger and frustration at the lack of information. Her chest felt tight and she nodded at her feared potions professor. “Thank you, sir.”

She didn’t move to walk him out, she listened to his boots clicking off the wood floors, the fire popping angrily at the disturbance, the elves moving around and muttering between themselves just out in the hall. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the smell of dust, earl grey, and salt.

This was her prison, and she knew it had  _ everything _ to do with trying to help Harry destroy more horcrux on his own instead of being encumbered by the Order and the Headmaster. Hermione rubbed the tears out of her eyes and tossed the book on the chair, leaving the sitting room and heading for her small room, angry at herself, but she was not sure entirely why. The vastness of the house, the loneliness, the frustration of being imprisoned, it pressed in on her.

She stared out the window over the English channel and felt dread in knowing that if she didn’t start taking control of this situation, the only view she would have of England was the waters that separated France from her friends.

Hermione lay on the bed, trying to think of a way to fix this so she could go back to the Order. Could she apologize to the Headmaster for undermining him? Could she get word to Harry about what was actually happening to her? Was Ron okay?

Her thoughts kept returning to the library. If she was truly going to figure out a way to get back into England, she would have to start arming herself.  
  


* * *

  
Her first indication that something was wrong was that the star gauge was fixed when she came down to the Cavern Library the next day. It whirred happily, floating from it’s own magic, the gold rings clicking as the planets moved, predicting the alignments and phases of all that surrounded them in the skies. It chimed when a favorable alignment was made and glowed, recording the alignments in a ledger nearby.

She figured that Rodolphus had returned, but for some reason she could not see that odious man repairing a finicky magical instrument. A chime as another favorable alignment was seen, it flickered and glowed a light green, and she left it alone, instead walking back towards the front of the library and settling down with  _ Apparition for the Uninitiated.  _ The first step towards freedom was movement.

After a few hours of reading she brought the book back up into the sitting room of the library and had the distinct feeling of someone else. There was a charge in the air of a magic other than her own, the scent of something other than dust. She shifted the apparition book to one side and withdrew her wand.

“Hello?” She called to the room of sheeted furniture, daylight throwing shadows across the room, giving illumination to the dust that surrounded her, swirling in the air with her movement.

With no answer she continued her way out into the hallway, the sheets were buffeted on a breeze and she  _ knew _ that someone had been by recently, but with no footsteps she could not be sure. “LeStrange?” She called again, turning down away from where she knew the sitting room was, further into the hallway that she was not technically allowed to be in.

The LeStrange manor seemed endless, long hallways that were not kept up with, dust coated the walls, and floors, and she knew she had to have been the first person this way in some time. The wooden floors had a groove worn down the middle from wear and she followed it, passing from window to window, the curtains urging her forward, blowing gently as she passed.

A door was slightly ajar further down, heavy oak next to two large sheets and she crept towards it, her heart hammering in her chest. It had to be Rodolphus, no one else was here or knew she was here aside from him and The Order. Whatever else was in the house  _ had _ to be friendly.

She stopped at the door, listening first to the hissing and pops of an active fire and then bent forward slightly to check if she could see signs of life, friend or foe. As she moved, she saw more of the room, but no one in it. She stepped forward to get a better look, and suddenly she felt something stir behind her.

“What are you looking for?” Rodolphus asked quietly, as if he was a co-conspirator.

Hermione stood up straight, a flush suffusing her face “I heard noises, I thought-”

“It was me.” Rodolphus said quickly. 

“Yes, of course.” Hermione agreed, feeling stupid for thinking it could be anything other than him. He was the only person who came and went.

“You shouldn’t be in this part of the house, you are to be confined to the library and your rooms.” Rodolphus said and took the apparition book from her, flipping through the pages impatiently before snapping it shut. “Come.”

She settled across from him in the sitting room, afternoon sunlight giving the room a different atmosphere. Was she really so desperate for company that she would sit with Voldemort’s right hand man?

The short answer was yes.

Rodolphus did not like to speak, and so even though he had invited her to the sitting room, they sat in tense silence, listening to the fire, and the house, which creaked in response to their movements, settling in again.

Finally, Hermione spoke “You fixed the star gauge.”

His brows knitted together and then his gaze, piercing, and black slid to her “It is no matter.”

“The spells on the third and fourth astral alignments were difficult, I have never seen one so complete. At Hogwarts, we only have the second alignment, but your star gauge has thirteen. Commercially, I know that four is considered as complete as needed for amateur astronomy.”

He seemed to be goaded by this statement because he scratched his chin before replying “I haven’t a great deal of interest in stars, I can create all manners of magic, it requires less...concentration.”

The way he swallowed the last word made it sound like a sore spot and Hermione let the conversation lapse, staring into the fire, wondering if her desperation for some kind of companionship wasn’t driving her mad to sit with this death eater.

“Lucius tells me that you are fond of reading.” Rodolphus offered quietly “His son speaks a great deal about you.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy Jr didn’t speak near constantly about the  _ insufferable mudblood  _ who punched him.” Hermione said offhandedly, annoyed that she was the topic of pureblood gossip.

He coughed in disbelief “Excuse me?”

“Surprised?”

“Not at all, perhaps you are as dangerous as I was led to believe.” He raised an eyebrow at her and she knew he was mocking her but she couldn’t find it within her to care.

The afternoon waned, edging towards dinner and the fire had burned down to hot embers, glowing brightly in the blackened fireplace. They did not speak, and Hermione could not find it within herself to care to speak to Rodolphus LeStrange, a greater part of her, the rational part, knew that despite being her  _ only _ company he was still a dangerous, and deranged bigot. No amount of good breeding and well defined cheekbones could make her forget who he was and what he had done. 

She stole glances at him, every so often, looking away from her lap, or the fire, or her own thoughts to study such a feared specimen of the Death Eaters. Neither of them read but instead they seemed to both bask in the company of another, silent observer.

Rodolphus LeStrange was lithe and tired, his hair was fine and dark, with grey that came in small streaks here and there, giving him a weathered look. His color was pale, and she could almost call it ashen. His eyes would go from sharp to unfocused, every time he would look over at her that faraway look made her wonder what atrocities he was remembering, what crimes he had committed to get his title, and what crimes he wanted to commit towards her. No one would be the wiser of what had happened here on this lonely barren coastline in France. The Order could simply tell Harry and Ron she had died on her mission and no one would spare her another thought. All it would take from Rodolphus is a quick spell, and she would be forgotten.

She closed her eyes and tried to school her thoughts away from any lingering darkness. She had to trust in her potion’s professor. There was a reason that they were just sitting together and not dueling.

This house! This house always drew her thoughts towards darkness, it fed on her, she was sure of it. She stood up suddenly, afraid of her own train of thought and fled the room, not sure if the walls were poisoning her or if it was the man in the room with her. 

She stepped into the small kitchen garden, hoping the cold fall air would clear her mind, wrapping herself in a hug and staring intently at the last of the herbs left before fall harvest. Rosemary, thyme, some coriander, and a hardy green mint whose vines were reaching for her across the dirt. 

Hermione pushed her hair away from her face in frustration, trying to force herself to be strong and looked up at the towering house, only to see a shadow in one of the upper floor windows come and go. Perhaps, one of the elves was in another part of the house she had not seen before.

“Have I offended you?” Rodolphus said from the kitchen door.

“No.”

“Don’t report it if I have.”

“To  _ whom _ am I reporting you? Your Lord?”

“Yours.”

“I have no Lord.” She said turning away from him and facing the channel, walking deeper into the garden that was no bigger than the sitting room they previously occupied.

“You are here because you wish to be?” Rodolphus laughed, it sent shivers down her spine. Dark and rich, it cut through the fall air. “We all have our lords.”

If she didn’t know any better he was trying to be kind, but before she could fire back any scathing remarks about lords or lack thereof he was gone from the doorway, replaced with an owl eyed Bessie, her fingers wrapped around the door jamb, her lips in a thin straight line.

Hermione turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is LeTourmont too contrived? It came from a town nearby where this is set in Ault, France. 
> 
> Canonically, Rodolphus is known for his temper, but I think that after a very long time in Azkaban he must have some lingering issues haunting him. I have a lot of emotions about ex-convicts in the wizarding world. I won't share them here.
> 
> Expect to see a lot of Lucius and Severus, Lucius because in my mind Rodolphus and Lucius are besties, and Severus because I usually have him as out of control and desperate in my fics and I would like to redeem myself to his character.
> 
> As always, R&R, I'll post some more chapters in the coming week.


	3. Chapter 3

She woke up to the sound of movement outside her door, bare feet on wood, her door rattled a few times and she grabbed her wand. Her wards began to glow, an alert of another magical signature close by, and she stumbled out of her bed, hoping that the noise would startle the intruder. She took a sharp inhale of breath, gathering courage and flung open her door with a shouted  _ Expelliarmus _ but the curse hit dead air, catching not a person, but a cloth covered painting hung across the hall. The curse pulled down the white sheet revealing a gigantic portrait of a woman dressed entirely in white, a bride of LeStrange, no doubt, staring back at her.

The portrait did not move. Hermione quickly went to cover it again. She heard the footsteps further down the hall, and she dropped the dust cloth and rushed towards it, her wand at the ready. “Face me, LeStrange, I will not die in my sleep!”  
  
She turned the corner, down a wing she had not been before, moonlight streaming in through neat square panes that lined the floor of the hallway like tiles, and it was empty. A door clicked shut somewhere further in and she was determined to face whatever was haunting her.

She edged further in, somehow the light on the floor seemed almost poisonous, and she slunk around it, hiding in the shadows, hoping to get a jump on her tormentor and then suddenly she heard her name from behind her. She turned back to see who it was.

Rodolphus, still in his night clothes, his hair askew, his wand drawn. “Miss Granger?” 

She would not die without a fight. If he wanted to curse her, she would curse first. She sent a disarming hex and he batted it away “Don’t tempt me, girl. I made an oath and I’ll die to break it if you test me.”

“Just try and curse me then! Who is in this house?” She stumbled backwards into the moonlight “Who else? Your wife? Someone is trying to get into my rooms at night!”

He looked back behind her, trying to find what she was chasing and lowered his wand “It’s just you and me, now.” He said, using a patronizing tone that only incensed her “Lower your wand, dangerous girl. You had a nightmare.”

“Someone was here, the sheets…” She looked out over the grounds and suddenly felt very stupid, had she dreamt it? “The curtains too.”

He was running his hands back through his hair, trying to push it into some kind of style that kept it out of his eyes. He stepped backwards away from her, sheathing his wand in his robes.

She stepped out of the moonlight and did the same, pushing her hair back angrily, feeling stupid that she had chased a ghost, or the remnants of yet another nightmare, they had become near constant in her isolation. The large house creaked and settled often, and she was sure that maybe this was the cause of her midnight restlessness.

Gods, she was stupid. In front of  _ him _ too. She knew he would probably have a good snicker with his friends after about the child that was running around screaming at ghosts in the early hours of night.

“I have them too,” He said from behind her “I have a cure for them, as well, follow me.”

She stood in the kitchen with him, it was a full moon and the kitchen was fully illuminated, he disappeared into a pantry and re-appeared with a bottle of milk and a small jar of cinnamon.

The stove suddenly roared to life and he grabbed a saucepan and began to warm the milk, the wooden spoon made a scraping noise against the metal sides of the pan. He was hunched over the low stove, keeping an eye on the milk so as not to scald it, and Hermione sat down at the low table, pulling her knees to her chest.

This particular style of late night madness felt almost so surreal that she suddenly wasn’t so sure that she was awake at all. The house creaked and settled, indignant that it’s master was in the kitchen with the intruder, irritated that they were running through it’s long deserted halls.

He turned to her, opening the door to the stove and allowing the warm orange glow to fill the room and sat down at the low table with her, giving her an earthenware mug, and himself the same, and did not stare at her, but at the fire, basking in it’s warmth as they both bathed themselves in the light.

“Lucius says that you are top of your class.”

Hermione looked up from her mug of cinnamon milk, an odd combination, its spice tempered by the sweetness of whole milk. “I was, before I was forced to leave.”

“I was not good at school.” Rodolphus said quietly

Hermione thought about her drink for a moment, formulating a response, and several others before picking. For some reason, in this moment she felt as if she was walking a very fine line between the two of them, at any moment this dream could cease and he would turn on her.

“It’s good that you are,” He continued looking up at her “Good at school, that is, when you’re shit at school people can take advantage of you.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at that, as if getting good marks in arithmancy made it any harder for Headmaster Dumbledore to ship her firmly into enemy territory with no way of leaving unless it was by the master of the manor, or him.

“It hasn’t suited me well yet,” Hermione said into her mug “Look at me now.”

He did look at her, at that, studying her for the first time probably since they had met a week prior, her hair also was wild, she was in an oversized quidditch jersey from Viktor, and plaid pants in classic Gryffindor colors. She suddenly felt her cheeks heat up under his scrutiny and bowed her head to stare down at the cup of milk instead.

“You talk about Lucius Malfoy a lot.”

“He’s my wife’s brother in law, and in a similar situation.” He said, turning his attention now away from her and at the fire crackling happily in the stove “When he told me you were to be sent here, I asked about you.”

Curiosity bit at her “What did he say?”

“Nothing that hasn’t proven true.” He hedged, unwilling to answer. He set down the empty mug and the spell between them was broken. “I will spend the rest of this week in the house, Severus has made me aware of some...shortcomings with the level of care you are receiving. Afterwards, I will not return, unless it is to check on your accommodations.”

He stood up and she suddenly felt very small in comparison, crouched down at the elf table with her warm cinnamon milk. Despite who he was, and despite his reputation, when he left the kitchen and the warm fire, Hermione felt a loss.

She washed both of the mugs in the sink, wishing, not for the first time this week, that she would have somehow drawn out her time with him a bit longer, before she was alone again. Somehow to engage in some long meaningful conversation with him, question all of his motives, learn his secrets, understand her position in the house, and why he was in possession of the library beneath it.

She had another five days of companionship before she was left alone again to her books, and to the combative elves that wished to starve and turn her out for taking up space in their ominous shrine to a family that had long since left.

On her way back to her room she looked at the towering painting of the LeStrange bride that hung outside her door, no longer covered; she could admire her dress, and the Grecian features of her face. She was definitely painted by the old masters, because despite not being magical, she had a presence, and eyes that watched without moving.

Hermione stepped up to the painting, the moon low in the sky and leaving little light. Inscribed in tarnished copper was just a name in the flourished script:  _ Leta LeStrange. _

“Hello, Leta,” Hermione muttered to herself more than the painting “I hope we can become good friends during my stay in your home.”

Hermione did not notice when the portrait moved, and Hermione did not notice when she closed her door that the bride of the LeStrange family had left her frame.  
  


* * *

  
She found herself on a dreary autumn day in the library between wakefulness and dreams, half dozing on an ancient runes text when a shadow passed in front of the light from the windows, waking her suddenly, her wand in her hand.

“You don’t take lunch.” Rodolphus said shortly “Is this why Severus said you are not being taken care of?”

Hermione hadn’t been sleeping well at night during the past two or three nights that he was in the manor. She found that for some reason the isolation and brightness of the library gave her some small comforts.

She sat up suddenly, straightening out her shirt as the text fell off of her lap and onto the couch. “No.” She said, her voice hoarse, it was the first time she had spoken to anyone besides the uncommunicative portrait of Leta LeStrange since their cinnamon interlude a few nights prior.

“Why?”

“Why did Professor Snape say that?” She asked, almost blearily, trying to gather her wits about him, he seemed angry. “I don’t know.”

“You must have said something, you said you weren’t being fed to me before we even knew each other. Do you make a habit of complaining to others?”

“Your elves called me a slur in front of him,” She sighed and smoothed down her riotous curls, trying to somehow present herself better to him, “When he comes this weekend, I will tell him that you have fulfilled your duties to me.”

“See that you do.” He stressed and moved to leave the library.

Upset that he was about to leave, and angry with herself for  _ feeling _ upset, she blurted out the next word unbidden “Stay.”

“Or? You’ll tell Severus again?”

How did Rodolphus have a way of making her feel so small and worthless “No, and I did  _ not _ tell Severus anything the first time either.”

He regarded her with some suspicion before sitting down in a chair, she could see the edges of the dark mark on his rolled up shirt sleeves, on his hand were ink stains, and on his other hand, an angry red cut crossed his palm.

A ritual marking. It was plain enough.

“What are you reading?” He asked, realizing what she was staring at and gripping the chair to hide the marks.

“Runes, for my project, but runic texts are dry and vague at the same time.”

“The secret project they sent you here to complete?” He queried and she wondered how much she could trust him.

The conversation lapsed into silence before he continued “Severus says it’s shit.”

“Even if it’s bad, I should have something to talk with him about when he visits this weekend.”

Rodolphus looked her over and his face softened a bit. His pity towards her was obvious. She wanted to melt into the floor. What was it about him that made her feel this way?

“I don’t take dinner.” He said picking up one of the ledgers and studying it, “but I can.”

She hated him, and hated herself even more. “I usually get hungry around seven.”

Rodolphus picked at some lint on his pants, and then finally his eyes met hers “Do you drink wine?”

“I can try.” She replied helpfully.

After a fashion she realized several things about the most feared Death Eater, Rodolphus LeStrange. Between runes that she no longer held interest in, but pages she turned anyways she studied the very secretive man who sat quietly near her, flipping through his family ledgers, looking for something he did not share.

Rodolphus LeStrange, murderer, torturer, liked to fidget, his hand, the one with the red slit mark across the palm, often moved towards her, away from her, and then onto his lap. She wondered if he was itching to curse her, or itching to speak with her.

He also liked to steal glances when she wasn’t looking, to try and study her, but this led to a lot of eyes locking and looking away, as they both attempted to assess each other.

The third time they caught each other’s eyes he spoke. “My family collects antiques.” He said finally, trying to swallow the awkwardness between them. “We have guarded this collection for 1200 years, or fifteen generations.”

Hermione closed her book and looked up at her companion who was looking anywhere but her. “Why did you leave it?”

“War.” He replied and then went back to his book, realizing what he had said.

She was determined to make this conversation last, she only had a few more days with another human being on a regular basis. “Which one? The English and the French...” She let the last word hang.

Rodolphus gave her a small smile which looked lopsided and awkward “When Grindelwald rose to power, it was too dangerous for the family to be here, so the estate was locked away. My family returned to guard the artifacts, as we have done. I spent my childhood here, but my father, and every father before that was set on power struggles in England.”

“It’s not enough to possess all this?” Hermione wondered

“Unfortunately, nothing is ever enough, not anymore.” He was wistful at these words, looking back into the caves, seeking answers in the darkness.

“You know,” She said, pulling his attention back towards her “If I had a choice between all the libraries in England, and this, I would choose this.” 

“It’s the magic.” He said “it’s going to keep drawing you here.”

She looked around trying to find the source of it “Why?”

“There’s so much of it, in the books, in the objects, like calls like.” He gestured to the caves “Severus says you like libraries, it means that your magic is searching, common sense.”

“My magic likes to read? Nonsense.”

“Your magic isn’t looking to read, it’s seeking it’s kind, whatever it is. When books are bound, they are bound in the magic of their writers, do they not teach you about your magical convergence anymore?” He sounded irritated with her suddenly.

She got up, hating the way that he could speak of how he was such a failure at school, but seemingly she was so beneath him that anything she spoke about was trivial. She left the rune book and stalked off into the depths of the caves, seeking to put distance between herself and the murderer, the torturer, the evil that was Rodolphus LeStrange.

The room containing her repaired Star Gauge sat across from the glowing room of memories, she watched it click and whir as she berated herself for even bothering to interact with him.

The bell chimed of a favorable alignment and there was the scratching of a quill.

“Miss Granger,” A voice low, foreboding called behind her and she stiffened, he had followed her “About magical convergence-”

“I get it, I’m beneath you.” She said and there was another chime. “You don’t need to follow me.”

She could feel his anger swirl around her, and it left no doubt that he was a powerful wizard. His magic crackled and pierced the air, causing the star gauge to shiver in response from it’s position floating in the middle of the room.

As soon as his magic tore through the room, it vanished.

“Dinner is at seven.” He said in a tone that brooked no argument.

She turned to tell him she didn’t want to take dinner with him and saw that he had left a book precariously balanced on the edge of a small table that held an ancient urn.  _ Affinities, Convergence, and Cruxes _ caught the eerie white glow of the memory room.

She picked it up, a smile on her lips.  _ Cruxes _ .

Finally, something she needed.  
  


* * *

  
Hermione brought the book with her to the sitting room, which was conspicuously empty, the fire had gone out, and Rodolphus was nowhere to be seen. The sun was gone, leaving only the ambient light of sconces that were barely lit with candles that had probably only a few days of wax left. 

Six thirty came and went, and her anxiety grew as the loneliness in the house made it to its climax at seven thirty an hour later. He wasn’t here, the elves had only prepared cold food for her. Had he gotten so angry at her for snapping at him earlier? Why was he so damned temperamental? Didn’t he kill people for fun?

There was a creak of floorboards out in the hallway and she peeked out into the darkness to see if he was just running behind and cursed herself six ways to Sunday when she realized she was  _ waiting _ for him. She sat down firmly in the chair and cast a small _incendio_ on the embers, watching them glow briefly before going out.

Bessie told her to ask Alice, who told her to Pierrot who was currently on the east side of the house chopping up the wood at dusk. She walked across the grounds, the waning moon still mostly full, illuminating the desolate lawn, sea waves crashing against shores, and grass brushing against her ankles. A wind would pick up every so often as she sought the small elf that spoke no English.

The night was clear and cloudless, she found herself staring upwards at the milky way that was streaking across the sky, holding her cardigan fast against the wind. She wondered how many favorable alignments there were tonight, in the fifteen minutes she spent with the star gauge it clicked and dinged many times. She could pick out a few major constellations even if she too, like Rodolphus, thought astronomy was boring, eventually as she neared a greenhouse that stood on the far east end of the house she could hear the  _ thock _ of wood being split and knew she must be close.

She rounded the corner to see not an elf, but a man splitting wood and she recognized him immediately as her missing dinner guest. He was illuminated not by starlight, but by the faint yellow glow emitted by the fairy mushrooms pressed up against the back wall of the greenhouse, giving him a sickly pallor. He was obviously sweating. His sleeves rolled up to reveal the dark mark, ink stains, and more ritual cuts.

“No magic?”

“Sometimes I need something tactile.” He said tossing the axe to the ground and staring at her.

The waves crashing against the shore filled up the silence between them “I don’t think you’re beneath me.” He said finally, picking up some split wood.

“I’m a mudblood.” She said matter of factly, even if the elves said it, it didn’t hurt any less when she acknowledged it.

“I am aware.” He replied and handed her a bundle of firewood

“You hate mudbloods.”

“I hate muggles.” He replied and loaded up on firewood himself. “Wizards used to consult with muggle kings, and now we have to squeeze in between  _ progress _ . We will take up less and less space, until our culture disappears.”

Silence stretched on between them “I missed dinner because we ran out of wood.” He supplied “I apologize, I am not one to be late.”

Hermione could not let his bigotry go. “Bellatrix-”

“Do not speak of her.” His voice took on a steel tone and Hermione dropped it.

They walked side by side back into the estate together under the stars. She listened to his steady breathing and wondered if she should try conversation again. She turned to say something to him and saw something move inside the greenhouses and stopped.

“There’s something insid-”

A crack of thunder interrupted her and Rodolphus pulled her towards him roughly, causing her to drop her wood, she fell into him while he pressed the two of them into the wall of the greenhouse.

“At this hour?” He hissed, annoyed. “Your Order really cares little for common manners.”

“Not  _ my _ Order.” She replied, realizing that he had shielded her between him and the wall, and squeezing out to see who had come.

“If you are hurt, it means trouble for me.” He said, unloading his wood onto her “Let me see who it is first.”

He slunk off into the night, his shadow barely seen for its speed, leaving her in the apex of the house and the greenhouse, illuminated by moonlight and moon flowers. She watched him round the edge of the house, his wand drawn, following whoever had apparated. She held the firewood to her chest and leaned back against the cool glass. Was the Order really visiting? Only Professor Snape came and went and usually he would rather leave than stay too long. He seemed to think that it was not one of his friends, although she thought it was far more likely.

She turned her attention to the moonflowers in the greenhouse beside her. She had never been inside of it, but it was rather large in itself. She wondered if this is what kept the elves so busy during the day. Dark plants towered over her, pressing against the glass walls and the ceiling.

A shadow moved again and she leaned closer, trying to see between the mandrake leaves who it was, or  _ what _ it was. It moved away from her view and then moved back into it. She saw it then, the figure of a man, a few inches taller than Rodolphus, with glittering black eyes. The shadow turned and then disappeared suddenly from view and Hermione’s heart stopped.

He had seen her.

She dropped her firewood and began to quickly walk away from the greenhouse, and then ran, hoping that whatever it was couldn’t catch her, and perhaps Rodolphus would instead. Her feet tripped on the cold ground, rocks and soft spots in the ground causing her to stumble as she rushed towards where she had seen the other man last, rounding the corner of the house, in the shadow of the moon, she ran into a dark figure, portly and short and withdrew her wand shouting a disarming curse, and immediately the man sent it back.

Hidden from moon and starlight, the only thing that could be seen was their respective darkness illuminated by short bursts of spell light.

Hermione stumbled sideways to miss the counter and sent a small jinx which was batted away as well, and there was the green glow of the killing curse. Her whole body froze, not a single nerve ending responding to her as the curse barreled towards her, but when it landed, it only stung. She yelped angrily and tried to land a more serious hex, her wand slicing downward in frustration and fury.

Someone grabbed her before she could cast it, pulling her backwards and there was a dazzling array of curses sent out from behind her towards the shadow.

The shield charm from the attacker lit up like a rainbow, and eventually shattered in a burst of light. Hermione pulled away from whatever was holding her but his grip was stronger “It’s me.” Rodolphus growled, his voice dangerous “Stay still.”

A binding hex, coupled with something darker and the attacker threw something in return, Hermione recognized the red as a cruciatus and Rodolphus, unfazed, continued his volley of spells until the attacker fell to its knees.

“Crazy bastard!” The voice was rough and she recognized it instantly “Let the girl go.”

“Professor Moody?” She replied, but made no move to leave Rodolphus, her shoulder hurt fiercely. She didn’t understand why an Order member would hex her.

“Curse her again and I will kill you where you stand.” He was shaking with barely contained rage “What are you doing at my estate in the middle of the night?”

“Checking in.” Moody offered little in the way of explanation, hobbling out from behind the shadows of the house and onto the well illuminated front lawn. “You’ve got promises to keep.”

The pain radiated from her shoulder, and she let go of a breath she had been holding, it felt like she had been stung by a hive of bees. Rodolphus moved away from her to speak with Moody who was now behind them and she hunched over, holding her hand gently to the irritated skin. She let a hiss of air through her teeth. They had practiced these before, but why did the one Moody sent hurt so much  _ worse _ ?

There was a shout of indignation and she turned to see that Moody had fallen onto the lawn face first, Rodolphus holding his wand to his back. “Trying to see if you can break my oath yourself? Report me to your lord and break your promise to me then?”

Hermione rushed over to him and pushed his wand away from the prone auror. Her shoulder screaming in pain as she moved it. “Enough,” It came out strangled, she grabbed her shoulder again. “Professor Moody will leave and he will report that I am in perfect health.”

“Report that he cursed you!” He was furious.

Moody got to his feet, his magical eye whirring to Hermione. “Play with fire and expect to get burnt.”

Rodolphus, incensed at the threat pointed his wand again and Hermione stood between the two men. “Go, Professor.” She said, facing the master of the house.

Moody, unable to stop the urge clapped Hermione on her hexed shoulder “Remember your loyalties, girl.”

She gritted her teeth at the new sharp pain that was felt all the way down to the nerve endings in her feet. Moody must have saluted Rodolphus because there was a sharp intake of breath and his wand was raised again.

With another crack of thunder they were alone and Hermione sagged to the lawn, clutching her shoulder.

“Go,” She said angrily, her emotions matching his, embarrassment flooding through her that she got caught so easily and that she had only avoided being disarmed by her clumsiness.

There was no movement and then finally she heard him shift to sit down near her. “Let me take a look at it, he’s always a right piece of work.”

“No,” Hermione flushed. He was such a great duelist, he was always looking for ways to show his pureblood superiority over her “I’m fine, it just stings.”

His anger gone, gentle hands with long fingers pushed aside her cardigan and the neck of her long sleeved shirt to reveal an angry raised welt where the hex had landed. 

Adrenaline left her feeling hollow, she sat there on his lawn, embarrassment and frustration resulting in angry tears, she refused to look at him. “I thought it was the killing curse, I couldn’t even move.”

“Strange for a stinging hex, maybe his own invention.” He reassured and she felt a cooling charm that took away the bite.

His fingers were gentle as they traced the length of the curse mark, and he sighed and stood up. “I think I have a salve for a curse burn somewhere in the kitchens here, you have another-”

She pulled away from him, covering up her older scar that she knew was unsightly. “Dolohov.”

His face paled, but he offered his hand to her anyway. “Dangerous girl.” He gave her an awkward smile.

“Thanks,” She said, taking his hand with her unharmed arm. “For finding me.”

“You must be hungry,” He said, avoiding her thanks, “It’s late.”

She noticed that he stayed close to her during the walk back, his warmth shutting out the fear she felt by being on the other end of an auror’s wand. He opened the doors to the manor for her and she stepped inside, suddenly, the wood she dropped was floating in behind them.

He closed the door and leaned against it, laying his head back against the door, exposing the column of his throat. “Fuck.”

Hermione left him to sit in the sitting room, taking a few pieces of wood with her. Cursing herself for her thoughts. Without his robes, the master of the house struck an imposing figure, her eyes couldn’t be helped from appreciating his particular style of dangerous beauty.

Loneliness, Hermione reminded herself. She spoke from loneliness. These feelings were not her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moody is my favorite villain in the series, I guess it shows as he is the villain in every single one of my stories. He has the attitude of one of those cops that thinks he's beyond any law and it always rubs me the wrong way. He seems like he can and will do anything to prove he is right, including sabotage.
> 
> My aesthetic is dark wizards chopping firewood on their expansive and abandoned French estates.
> 
> I will try to bookend this week with updates.
> 
> Everyone's reviews from the last chapter really made me feel great! I hope I can live up to your expectations, I added an additional 8k of words over the weekend so there is plenty of content already written.


	4. Chapter 4

She woke up to thunder in the morning, jumping out of her bed at the possibility that it was not thunder but apparition she had her wand at hand. There was a clatter somewhere in the house above her and she opened the door to see Leta LeStrange looking back at her. “You heard it, right?” She asked the portrait.

The portrait did not respond.

She could hear the rain sleeting against the windows in the first floor hallway, a dull roar that drowned out her own thoughts briefly. It came down in sheets, obscuring the early morning light. A clatter again on the second floor could be clearly heard over the thunder.

She had not been up to the second floor, mostly keeping to her “forbidden to the library” terms of imprisonment. The foyer held the only stairs she had seen in the house, also somewhere she did not go often, the dusty chandelier was never lit and looked as if it was ready to fall at any time, halfway askew, caught on the balcony above. 

“LeStrange?” She called cautiously, and cast a  _ tempus _ charm to see that it was half past six in the morning. She never slept well enough in this house, a fitful sleep of a few hours was all that could be guaranteed. 

A clatter of yet another object, metal, for sure, somewhere off to her right, and she slunk up the stairs with a lumos. Her mind kept going back to the figure she had seen on the second floor a few days prior. Could she finally have proof of someone else in the house? Was it just Rodolphus? Did he sleep here? She wasn’t sure.

A few paintings in the hallway were partially uncovered, and she could see hints of florals, and aged gold frames with paint flaking onto the dust cloths that were hanging haphazardly off the top of their frames. The windows here were drawn open, and she could hear the sound of bare feet, and then  _ clang _ of something dropping further into the hallway. Lightning illuminated the dulled wallpaper, a dark burgundy with copper fleur-de-lis patterned and peeling.

The hallway was empty, and she turned a corner down a side hallway and saw now what she had been hearing, and relaxed. Pierrot was dropping pots onto the floor to stop the leaks that were coming through the ceiling above, each time he had caught sight of a drip, there was a bang of metal as he dropped another pot.

She remembered what Alice had said and waved to the house elf “ _Bonjour_ ,”

Pierrot was suddenly startled and dropped the five or six pots he was carrying with a loud clatter in the hallway, startling her and himself. She jumped back as they rolled every which way. She picked up a few and started to stack them for the elf, following him as he walked down another side hallway that was leaking, the puddles running in small rivers down the grooves of the wood. Another loud boom of thunder as she  _ evanesco’d _ the water and place another pot down, staring up at the ceiling that was obviously water damaged, rings of brown on the white wallpaper that bubbled and sagged under the leaks from the roof above.

They walked past a bedroom that had it’s door ajar, the only one on this floor, and she could see the soft glow of firelight spill out into the halls. She stopped with her three remaining pots stacked haphazardly in her arms, trying to see who was in the bedroom without appearing too obvious.

Rodolphus lay in the center of the bed. Unlike hers it was large and coated in rich velvets and royal purples. A luxurious Persian rug spread out across the hardwood floors, rich golds and red florals woven into ornate braids around the edges. He was shirtless, and she could see the extent of his injuries in the dim morning light. Cuts and black stripes marks criss-crossed his torso, but he had the body of a swimmer, muscular and lean. She could see each rib, and a flat stomach with a smattering of black hair that led beneath the sheets. She saw a few curse marks that mirrored her own and wondered if Dolohov had gotten to him too.

She saw him shift in the bed, the sheet fell lower revealing that he was pantless too and she bit her lip, suddenly feeling disgusted with herself for spying and continued on trying to avoid the way her heart had beat faster to look at him in such a vulnerable state. What was becoming of her?

Pierrot pointed out a few more spots, cleaning the floors with elf magic before Hermione set down the pot, he chattered away with her in French, but Hermione could not understand a word. They were cleaning up a rather large puddle and putting down the biggest saucepan at the end of the hallway, and the elf kept saying  _ “Bien! _ ” 

“Miss Granger?”

She turned to see Rodolphus, wearing his wizard robes and some pajama pants trying to wake himself up, and then quickly closing his robes to hide his bare chest. “Did we wake you?”

“I heard Pierrot talking to someone.” He said vaguely “You shouldn’t be up here.”

She knew, of course she knew, the conditions of her stay here, but it didn’t hurt any less to hear it from him. Everything about him made her on edge, she couldn’t understand it.

“I heard a noise, and he needed help.”

Rodolphus, half asleep, clearly annoyed began to scold the elf in French so quick that she could only catch a few words here and there, and her name, repeatedly in a slurred French accent  _ ‘Er-my-own _ . The elf seemed to step away from her and bowed so low that it's forehead touched the ground.

She patted the elf awkwardly and stood up, walking down the hall, brushing past the man who she had been admiring not thirty minutes early.

“Excuse me,” She snapped and did not turn back when he called her name, not once, twice, or three times.

Odious man,  _ hateful man _ . She never wanted to hear her name on his lips again.

* * *

  
Rodolphus LeStrange, boogeyman to a generation of muggleborn children, ex-convict twice over, and possible creator of dark curses sat across from her at lunch (something she also was only at due to Bessie’s insistence) and apologized to her.

“The second floor is not safe because of all the water damage; the wood is rotted.” He said matter of factly “I apologize.”

“The thunder woke me, I thought that-” She let it hang and listened to the rain that continued to pound against the windows “It’s stupid.”

“After that so-called  _ auror _ attacked you last night, it is not.” Rodolphus sounded vehement “I know he knew it was you.”

“I hexed him first.”

“Did it land?” Rodolphus asked curiously.

“No, I am not a duelist.” She replied with frustration, also feeling like he would look down on her for this as well.

He was sipping a glass of wine thoughtfully at this, his eyes with the same far-away look that he got when he had exited the conversation.

There was a crack of thunder and Hermione looked out onto the front lawn from the windows in the drawing room, expecting to see the spectre of Professor Moody, but was greeted by the imposing figure of her potions professor cutting across the grey sky and green lawn.

“Leave.” Rodolphus said, knowing who was visiting without her announcing his presence.

She did leave, nodding to her professor, on her way out of the sitting room, she left all the way around the corner, watching Bessie who was in turn watching her and listening to the two men in the sitting room.

“You tried to kill an auror last night, LeStrange?” Professor Snape asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

“Your auror succeeded in harming the girl with the strongest stinging hex I have seen. I know his game. I am keeping up my end of this deal, Lucius said that was  _ all _ I had to do.”

A moment passed, and then quietly “Is she well?”

“Jumpy, particularly during thunderstorms.” Rodolphus replied “It must be traumatizing to have your old professors show up in the middle of the night to try and kill you.”

“Do you think-” It was left hanging.

“Not everyone is keen on this deal that your lord has struck with Lucius and I.”

“Miss Granger is far more acceptable than who Lucius received,” Professor Snape snorted and Hermione wondered if he was speaking about Ron. “Mad as a March Hare.”

Not Ron, someone else.

“She has a quick temper.” Rodolphus replied.

Hermione flushed.

“Oh, and you are level-headed?” It was the first time she had heard her feared potion’s professor laugh “Come, Miss Granger, we are speaking about you after all, let’s see this lethal hex.” Sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“I am not here to be laughed at.” She called from the hallway, unwilling to move, embarrassed at being caught.

“I must assess your condition before I return to the Order.” His tone brooked no argument and Hermione stepped back into the doorway. “Your well being is not your own business any longer.”

“I am not hurt,” She replied shrugging off her cardigan “He was just startled, and I was startled.”

The two men looked at her shoulder critically, a large welt had appeared cutting from her collarbone down to her upper arm in a diagonal, light blue and green flowering from the line. It was raised and angry, but it no longer stung. She stared at the ceiling, her face flushed red at the scrutiny.

“Explain.” Her professor said.

She decided to leave the shadow she had seen in the greenhouse out of her explanations, afraid of anything they may say about her seeing apparitions. “I went to follow Mister LeStrange and rounded the corner to see a man in the shadows, I cast an expelliarmus and it didn’t work. I cast a binding jinx, it also...failed. The spell he sent was green, I thought-”

“This was in retribution for a jinx?” Rodolphus turned away from her and stared out the window.

“I have some bruise paste, the proximity to the caster is why it is so severe.” Professor Snape frowned “Even so, a stinging hex is not green, it is white. This was no ordinary charm.”

Her professor righted her shirt and she wrapped her cardigan back around herself. He continued, censure in his voice “Alastor sometimes can be  _ creative _ with spells, I would not put it past him to have altered the hex to change the light emitted.”

“So he did it to frighten her?” Rodolphus did not face either of them as he spoke.

“Fear is a powerful tool in duels.” Professor Snape withdrew a few vials of potion. “I will explain to the headmaster what has happened here, and Miss Granger, I expect an update on this.” He handed her three thin paperbound books. “Let’s not waste our mandated afternoons on fools errands.”

She looked down and saw in neat cursive  _ Moste Potente Potions Vol. XXIV,  _ fanning out the journals she saw it contained the twenty second and twenty third volume as well. 

“When will you return to England?” Professor Snape asked as she flipped through the table of contents of the twenty-fourth volume.

“The day after tomorrow, I made the necessary adjustments here for her.” Rodolphus replied, finally turning back to face them. “As requested.”

Her stomach constricted, it was like ice, hearing that her loneliness would return. Since when had she become so desperate for company that she would prefer a LeStrange over a library? She tried to swallow the stone in her throat, willing herself to remember her position and  _ his _ .

“Miss Granger thanks you, I am sure.”

She did not look up from the table of contents “I did not request them, so I will not thank you for them.”

“Insolence.” Rodolphus’ voice held no ire, it sounded almost playful. “Severus, will you stay for dinner?”

“They are expecting a report on your guilt.” Professor Snape’s voice took an acerbic tone and she tried not to look at either of them “And now since you are not guilty, it will transfer to me.”

“There’s really only two sides to this Order of yours: Gryffindor or Guilty.” Rodolphus laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but Hermione hated to admit that he was right.

“No comment, Miss Granger?”

“What is the point of commenting on the truth?” She replied airily.

The professor narrowed his eyes at her, surveying her critically before turning his attention back to the other man in the room “Enjoy your afternoon, I will see you in a few days time, and you, Miss Granger, as well.”

Professor Snape left in a billow of black, a drama that kicked up dust in the hallways and left the two of them alone.

Hermione looked over at Rodolphus who looked away from her quickly. She caught it though, the way that he stared at her. She wasn’t sure what it had meant. Derision?  
  


* * *

  
She had thought that she would use the last twenty four hours they had together in some meaningful way. After another sleepless night for her, thunder waking her as it rattled her windows, nightmares of death eaters stealing her from her small, dreary bedroom in the house, and the house settling in ways that were  _ unsettling _ , she barely had energy to work through the journals she received yesterday, and instead dozed on and off in the cavern library, sitting on the floor in a corner of potion texts, the cloudy light filtering in through the yellow windows giving the room a warm cast.

Every so often she would be awakened by an echoing  _ ding _ of the star gauge, the whispers of books begging to be read, or the book in her lap sliding off onto the floor. The next time the star gauge dinged, she woke on the couch near the windows, covered in robes that were not her own.

She passed most of the day alone, listening to the silence of the library, trying to determine if another was with her, but if he was with her, then she would not have known either, as he rarely made noise, or perhaps she was just so bad at detecting him that he could come and go between dreams.

When she ascended the stone stairs for dinner they met in the poorly lit stone hallway on the way down. “Come, Miss Granger, it’s time for dinner.”

Their last dinner, she noted mentally. The last time they would see each other for any reason. From now on, only her jailer would visit on Sundays. There was an emptiness in this statement that she did not expect, knowing him for two and a half weeks on and off, and knowing  _ of _ him for a long time previously. She found she could summon no resentment for him, just loss. 

They did not go to the kitchen, or to the sitting room where they both ate off the low-set table usually, but instead to a well lit dining hall, with a solid oak table that was three times as long as she was tall. A chandelier, newly cleaned, burned brightly overhead, the dark wood and dark walls led to the intimacy of their last dinner.

“I didn’t know this was here.” She said surprised at the opulence that had been hidden under the dust and white sheets. “It’s gorgeous.”

“This came from Versailles, before the revolution.” He ran his finger along the polished wood before sitting down “Muggle kings have good taste in furnishings, the inlay is so delicate that there is not a seam between any two pieces.”

Food appeared in courses, each one plated and put together so that she was never too full before the main course of roast duck arrived. They sipped on elf wine, sickeningly sweet white wine that went to her head almost immediately.

“You will be rid of me tomorrow.” Rodolphus commented idly “I will leave in the morning.”

Her chest hurt, she ignored it. “Who will chop wood? The house will be cold.”

He raised a glass of red wine to his lips, his glittering black eyes on her “It sounds as if you will miss me.”

“I won’t, just the firewood.” She assured, a smile playing on her lips “Who will trip my old Professors on the lawn?”

“I cannot instruct an elf to do that.”

She hummed in agreement “I will at least miss that much.”

She was picking at the tart that was served for dessert, trying to draw out their dinner together a little longer, and the part of her that had too much wine decided not to examine  _ why _ just that it was.

Rodolphus spoke, his words after two glasses of wine had a specific French lilt to them, a kind of intimacy that she didn’t expect to share with such a man as him. “My family collects antiques.”

She looked up from her tart and saw him staring into his red wine, his fingers twirling the glass, creating a small vortex in the center. “So you have said.”

“What use is an antique collector in a war?”

“Weaponry.” Hermione answered.

“Précisément,” He pointed at her “My father ingratiated himself to Tom Riddle with the large collection of weapons, antique cursed objects, forgotten knowledge and magic, the LeStrange family was the keeper of the knowledge of magical Europe, and my father turned it all over to some school friend, and he wouldn’t stop there, why not turn over your children too? All that you own? Fuck.”

Rodolphus spoke the last word so suddenly that Hermione recoiled. No one spoke.

Finally, his voice, a heavy French accent, a heavy sorrow. “My mother killed 'erself 'ere.”

She looked around as if the spirit would come in the room as they spoke.

“I hate this house,” He said and leaned back in the chair, his head tilted back, the column of his throat exposed “It’s why you’re here, everyone knows why we abandoned this house.”

Hermione did not breathe, afraid that any movement, any noise from her, no matter how small would stop his confession to her.

“I was twenty two, and my brother was twelve, when I left this house, she killed herself.” He picked up his wine glass but made no move to drink it. “I killed her.”

He picked his head up and stared at her, a kind of stare that made her insides heat up, she knew he saw her. Not supposed to be Head Girl, not future Mrs. Weasley, not the brains of the golden trio, but he saw  _ Hermione Granger _ . She opened her mouth to say something, but he spoke first.

“When I leave tomorrow, will I kill you too Miss  _ ‘Er-my-own _ Granger?”

She couldn’t move, a spell had transfixed her. She forgot to breathe. Was it a threat? He was a dangerous man. 

They did not speak for the rest of the meal, Hermione out of fear, and Rodolphus, perhaps because he knew there was nothing left to say.  
  


* * *

  
In the kitchens, the next day, before he left, she fastidiously catalogued everything she knew about him. He smelled like freshly cut wood, sea breeze, and smoke. If he wore white, like today, she could see some of his blackened curse marks through his shirt. His eyes were not black but dark brown, and his hair was absolutely untamable in the morning, like her own. In the time they had spent together his ashen pallor had turned into a pinkish white. He went days at a time without shaving, and today was no exception, five o'clock shadow turned into the hint of a beard.

Hermione tried to memorize everything about him, her only companion in France. When he walked out to apparate, she walked out too, following him further and further towards the shore, not sure when he would simply apparate or if he knew she was following him and wanted to tease her.

They stood at the edge of the cliff, where earth fell to meet the sea, another choppy autumn day, boats sailing easily past their vision. The wind blew her hair in and out of her face even if it was sunny, she wished it would rain.

Rodolphus did not look at her, and she wondered if last night’s embarrassing confession was the reason why he avoided her gaze, but it gave her comfort to know that he could not watch her study him.

He spoke after a few moments, they stood together at the ends of the continent, trying in vain to see England, to see the other part of their life, the life she was forced to abandon because of an ill conceived plan for victory. “Will you miss me, after all?”

“You are the only person I know in all of France.” She replied, not answering the question, not quite.

“Miss Granger, you are the only person worth knowing in all of France.” He replied, and finally he looked at her.

Some part of her, the girlish part that read too many romance novels, want him to embrace her, to show her that she mattered to him, that she was more than just his prisoner, some irritant in the home his family had been destroyed in.

That part of her remained unsatisfied as he disapparated with a crack. 

It only took a few seconds for her to be the last person on earth, and like the fool she was, she wept. Not for the man that left her, but for her future here at Le Tourmont.

It was loneliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Distance makes the heart grow fonder.


	5. Chapter 5

Her second sign that something was wrong was the books. It was a Monday after Professor Snape had left, she had settled into a kind of melancholy that on some mornings felt like the flu. The books kept appearing on the table, one after another when she came and went to the library, more ledgers, more histories about the LeStrange family.

Her initial thought was perhaps the elves had gotten some grudging acceptance of her presence here and were trying to introduce her to the family history. Alice, at least, was proud to serve such a noble family as the ancient House of LeStrange.

At first she ignored the ledgers, studying a potions text so that she could keep up for her Sunday sessions with Professor Snape. And yet, they kept appearing, the books becoming older and older, stacking in chronological order until finally, one evening, after speaking briefly with Leta LeStrange, the only portrait she dare keep uncovered, a scroll, bound in red twine, appeared on the top of the stack.

Staying in the cavern library at night somehow felt safer than her rooms, and on some nights she would sleep down in the small sitting rooms, or curl up in the star gauge room, basking in the warm light of its magic. The library indeed was starting to wake, the torches now almost all emitted a warm glow of fire, and her need for reading by wandlight diminished. 

She picked up the scroll and felt the magic burn through her before settling, it was clearly warded, or just recently un-warded, and she opened it to see another uninteresting ledger of purchases, written in latin, which lent towards a pre-medieval date. It was astonishing to see how unbroken the records of the family were, to know that the LeStrange family had guarded these relics since the Roman empire. She wasn’t even sure if their family didn’t, in some way, pre-date the empire.

In this initial scroll the daily minutiae was even more apparent, there were no large artwork purchases, but mercantile events, cloth, wool, pottery, and stone. They were shipping a large amount of items to France from Italy, and she assumed that this is when the family moved out of Rome, two hundred years before the fall. 

_ Navis - Moirae _ was the largest, and last expense for this scroll, a handsome sum that was off the charts compared to even the most expensive bulk purchases at this time. She looked up from the scroll briefly at the library, listening to the stillness briefly, expecting some bright inspiration as to why she should care and then sighed, rolling it back up. Whatever the elves meant to tell her about the Lestrange estate, she could not be sure. That they had money? It was a given, but it mattered little to her.

She set it down and walked into the depths of the caverns, spelling some artifacts clean as she went towards the back of the library, towards the memory room, and the room across from it that held the records of all that existed in the library, looking for any references on Belladonna that was mentioned as a healing salve in one of the journals.

As she passed one of the rooms, a large room of statues that she preferred to not acknowledge she could feel the air change. Now that she was alone, everything seemed to be magnified twentyfold. A breeze in a hallway, the temperature in the sitting room, the way the house settled, she had memorized it all.

She convinced herself a few times that she was making it up. Remembering how many times Rodolphus had caught her chasing after shadows. So she passed, holding her breath so she could detect the breath of another, but even as she passed the statue room, she heard nothing, just  _ felt _ it.

Someone else was here with her, the shadow she had often seen, it had to have come from the library. Her heart rate sped up but she remained calm, walking towards the room of memories and hoping the light would ward off anything that had come to haunt her. 

Hermione stepped behind the wall of the room, pressing her back up against a shelf of memories, staring into the room, and listening, but all she could hear was the melodic call of the obsidian door that she had tried to learn to ignore.

A few vials were out, near the basin, probably from when Rodolphus was here last, this room, aside from the statue room, made her feel awkward. The memories of probably generations of LeStranges floated in jars and vases in this room, and it was too intimate for her to investigate. She could not imagine being so close to the family as to share in their memories, and yet, something nagged in her mind.

The vials that were out and labelled all were written neatly with dates within the past few months, she assumed that they were being stored by him. She picked up a few of the ones that were full and stared at them, a demon on her shoulder told her to take a look, that no one would know. However,  _ she  _ would know.

There was already a memory in the stone basin, swirling lazily, like a fish trapped in a pond, begging her to just take a quick peek into the mind of the master of the house. 

She set down the vial wondering if she wanted to share such intimacy with Rodolphus, and before her mind had been made up, she was gripping the edges of stone, their surface smooth from years of use, and plunged into whatever memory was swimming here.

The memory started in smoke. It floated past her vision, clearing up as the memory solidified, the owner of the memory was waking. 

They were bowing, she could feel the constraints around her chest as the two men stood kneeling on soft carpets. Fury coursed through her and she knew it was not her own, at first all she could see was purple, purple velvet and worn carpet that had stars woven into the fabric.

“Mister LeStrange, and Mister Malfoy,” the Headmaster’s voice was clear “What do you know of The Order of the Phoenix?”

No one made a movement, but the purple fabric in front of her eyes shifted, and she realized she was looking at the Headmaster’s robes. After a beat, suddenly the Headmaster was in her vision, his eyes black as coals, and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“The Ministry of Magic caught the two of you this evening, along with several others stealing from the Hall of Records, and Alastor has kindly deposited you to me.” The Headmaster moved away and she could no longer see him, the binding curse now crushed her chest and she gritted her teeth. “In the Order of the Phoenix, we are a firm believer in the power of love.”

“Cut the shit and kill us old man.” Rodolphus’ voice was clear “I didn’t like you in transfiguration class, and I don’t like you now. I am not striking a deal, I am not joining your club, kill me where I stand.”  
  
“It can be done.” Professor Moody said “But I am not in the business of doing kindness towards scum like you.”

“Love is a very powerful magic, more powerful than anything Tom can promise you, and I will teach you one lesson on this ancient magic, Mister LeStrange, and Mister Malfoy.”

“I’m afraid I’ve already graduated,” Lucius replied airily and there was a noise behind her and suddenly Lucius fell face first onto the carpet, his hands tightly bound the rope biting into his skin, cutting him open. Blood seeping into his robes and now down his back. It glistened with wetness in the black velvet.

Hermione recoiled at the cruelty.

“I will not explain anything further, let this be a short lesson for all of us. Mister LeStrange, your brother. Mister Malfoy, your son.”

Panic overwhelmed her and she saw Malfoy Senior tense in front of her, his nails digging into his palms as his knuckles went white. “One of them is out on bail by the Ministry, and the other, is a student here at Hogwarts.”

“I am a quick learner. A deal then.” Rodolphus said in a rush.

Professor Moody’s laugh made her blood run cold. 

She pulled herself from the memory, her body ached from the binding curse that was present in the memory and stumbled away from the basin. Was it blackmail? Kidnapping? To think that the Headmaster would use a student to get obedience from their parents was unthinkable.

She turned away from the basin to see something move out of the corner of her eye, and she palmed her wand instantly. There was a  _ ding _ of the star gauge and stepping out of the room of memories she looked for any indication of movement and saw none, towards the front, or towards the obsidian door that now was behind faint blue wards. She hadn’t imagined it, she was sure someone was watching her in that room.

“If you’re a friend, I won’t hurt you.” She called “If you’re a foe, well, I’ll try to hurt you.”

Her voice echoed off the walls, and she knew that whatever it was would not reply. She had to catch it, perhaps an elf, perhaps something more sinister. She mentally rotated through all the creatures Hagrid had taught her but could not think of something as large as what she had seen other than perhaps a ghoul or a boggart.

In response to the idea that it was a boggart she immediately summoned a patronus, watching the otter spin and swirl in the air playfully, and followed it back towards the well lit sitting area, turning over the memory she had just seen in the basin, afraid of seeing anything more, or anything  _ worse _ .

It was easy to accept the facade of Albus Dumbledore, infallible Headmaster with good intentions. It was harder to accept Albus Dumbledore, war general who used war ethics.

She realized now, as she sat in her vast prison, that she had severely underestimated the headmaster. Had she known of his true capabilities, she would have never sent Harry to speak with him. Hermione cursed herself, how would he have won the last war if he was an old fool?  
  


* * *

  
Hermione spent a lot of time at the cliffs, staring out over the English channel and looking towards England, wondering if there was a possibility of getting to England by will alone. She thought about walking down to the village, but it was four hours and already at mid afternoon it would be dark before she returned.

She wondered how long she could take the once-weekly visits before she would crack? Professor Snape was cordial at best, he spoke at length, a lecture more than a conversation and after their allotted hour he would ask her the same three questions.

“Are you well?”  
  
Afraid of getting Rodolphus in trouble, she answered “Yes.”

“Are you sane?” 

Afraid of getting herself in trouble, she answered “Yes.”

“Do you need anything from me?” 

Most times she answered no, one time early on in their sessions she asked for news about Harry and Ron, but one look and she never asked again.

The days were getting colder, so she knew that after this week, which was perhaps early November, she would no longer have the right clothes to go outside, and her room contained nothing else. Warming charms only lasted for so long. As the seasons changed her freedom would ebb, and in winter she would be confined completely.

She walked alongside crumbling cliffs, her hair blowing with every crash of the waves on the shore, her thoughts returned to the memories she had seen the day before, a side of Dumbledore that she had been lucky not to see, but still felt the effects of. She had decided that Draco and Rodolphus’ brother were being held hostage by The Order, but a larger part of her could not decide if it were true or if she wished it to be true. It was easy to see evil in her captors.

She walked back to the house when it got too cold to stay away from it, still convinced that there was dark magic in the walls that caused her nightmares. The elves had vacated, and she never was sure where they went during the day. The kitchen was empty and she set about making herself warm milk with cinnamon, a reminder of the night she spent with him.

The shadows grew longer as the sun disappeared from the sky, until finally, when she sat down at the small child-height table, her knees into her chest, it was dark, except for the glow through the window of the wood burning stove. She drank the milk, scalding hot to try and mimic some kind of human warmth, the cinnamon burning as she swallowed.

It had been one month, three weeks of which she spent entirely alone. She wasn’t entirely sure how long they planned to keep her here, or how long she could survive. The milk became hard to swallow as her eyes welled up with frustrated tears, staring hard into the fire popping away eagerly.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone in three days, not even the elves. Her thoughts kept haunting her, moments with Rodolphus, her last conversation with Harry, the last time Ron had given her that  _ look _ that made her insides turn into butterflies. Even the magic of cinnamon milk had worn off in the last part of the month and she was left with nothing but this hollow depression that made her muscles ache when she got out of bed.  
  


* * *

  
A long walk that felt as if it had only gotten longer during the length of her stay and she picked up another LeStrange ledger, a new one that had appeared thanks to elves, this one was written on fragile papyrus, the latin in clean hand and she looked through the wand translated day to day, living a life that was not her own, celebrating birthdays through their expenses, and uncaring that she was hungry, she fell into a comfortable sleep.

Warmth, fingers on her cheek, and she grabbed the hand that touched her face, withdrawing her wand and pointing it at whatever had touched her before her eyes were open, only to feel wand tip in return, it was dark, the torchlight and moonlight illuminated the shadow a thin tall man with long hair that, if she hadn’t studied so much of Rodolphus, she would expect it  _ was _ him.

“You have thirty seconds,” her voice cracked “Before I curse you. Give me your name.”

“Rabastan.” The man replied, his voice also rusty “Rabastan LeStrange.”

Her eyes widened, trying to see more of him in the darkness. “Are you going to kill me?”

“No.”

She let go of the hand that was near her face, the first human warmth she had felt in six weeks. “I saw you, in the greenhouse.”

“Yes.”

She sat upright, trying to smooth out her robes, “Are you bound by the same oath as Rodolphus LeStrange?”

“Yes and No.”

“That’s not an answer, if it is no, I will ask you for a wand oath not to harm me. You are as much a Death Eater as he is. I know what you’ve done.”

“I cannot give you a wand oath.” The longest sentence the shadow said and he stepped back, tossing his wand on the table “I cannot do magic, or they will find me.”

“The Ministry?”

He shrugged “You know, don’t you? You saw the memories.”

Her blood was cold. “You saw?”

Like the other LeStrange, he did not speak much, but something about him was gentler, less imposing, and softer. “Are you hungry?”  
  


* * *

  
“You lie a lot,” He said as they sat down in the dining hall “To Severus, and to the elves. Severus knows.” He stabbed at a sprig of asparagus, the elves all attended him eagerly.

So, this is where the elves had gone. To serve the other master of the house and to leave her to starve. “To protect my brother.”

“Not intentionally,” Hermione flushed, angry at herself.

“Intentionally.” Rabastan insisted.

She looked up from her plate to look at the younger brother Rodolphus had spoken of, he had the same thin look, a haunted gaze that could see through anything and anyone. Unlike his older brother, he was taller and despite being a good deal younger, did not look it. His hair was past his shoulders and half of it was pulled back away from his face. He wore formal clothes, a vest and a white shirt, wool pants that were wrinkled and rolled up, and he bore no scars like his brother had, clean white skin, and one dark mark.

“How long have you been watching me?” She asked, but the real question was  _ if you were here why did you leave me alone _ ?

“You spend a lot of time with the star gauge I fixed.” He continued, not answering her question “You like the magic in that part of the library, and you’ve been reading the ledgers that I leave you.”

“I thought the elves-”

“They don’t like your pity.” He said “They mistreat you because you mistreat them.”

She was angry now, all her secrets the past six weeks had been thrown in her face. She stood up abruptly, leaving her half eaten chicken.

“I’m suddenly not hungry.” Her appetite had been sated by the brief moments of interaction with another LeStrange, and it made her stomach queasy.

“Wait,” Rabastan stood up too, knocking into the table and making all the silverware clatter “I wanted to get to know you.”

“You’ve clearly already made up your mind about me.” She snapped heading towards the door, but a hand came around her wrist and she looked up to see him pleading with her in all but words.

“You’re hungry, I won’t talk anymore.”

Rabastan was true to his word, and ate quietly next to her, she ate slowly, savoring the food and the company, unsure much about him other than his age, and that he was good at fixing things. She wondered if he was gone in the head, because no one stalks someone else for almost two months without being a little off.

“I like to read too,” He muttered into his plate “I’ve wanted to approach you for awhile, and maybe…” he let it trail off as he pushed the remaining vegetables around the plate “It’d be strange to do it after so long.”

“Why didn’t you introduce yourself when I first arrived?”

“My magic is unstable,” He breathed “Since I cannot do any.”

So, earlier was an empty threat. She was easily fooled, but ignored it. “Why?”

“My wand is being tracked.”

She narrowed her eyes briefly and then it dawned on her that, if he was on bail from the Ministry, and Dumbledore was in control of the aurory, they could easily track him through his wand. Rabastan was the leverage the Order had on Rodolphus, and Rodolphus was currently trying to break that leverage. 

She changed the subject, unwilling to confront that harsh truth about the war. Instead, she looked at her strange stalker, a nervous man crackling with unused magic and realized it would be better to know where he was rather than have him startle her or try to touch her. 

“I was planning on doing more reading after we eat.” She said mimicking his actions and pushing around the remainder of her carrots “If you truly like to read, that is.”

They had settled into a comfortable silence, she could feel the instability he spoke of, his magic felt like static electricity, arcing through the air and at certain points, rustling books and knocking things over which the elves quickly picked up and righted. She had never thought about what it meant to not do magic, and hadn’t considered the implications of the Ministry of Magic tracking wands.

In this account she saw another line for the  _ Moirae _ , a credit, rather than a debit, followed by many more, it seemed that whatever it was, was highly profitable for the LeStrange family and probably was the beginning of their wealth. It was amazing to her that they could trace their family line back this far, to the height of the Roman empire. 

Scrawled on the bottom was  _ Obsidius  _ and she looked up from the ledger and into the darkness of the library, knowing exactly what this ledger line attributed itself to. The door that was currently warded, that possessed such strong magic she could  _ hear _ it.

An expensive slab of stone door, that wiped out a lot of their profit in this year from whatever their  _ Moirae _ had done, which Hermione surmised could be the name of their merchant ship at the time.

There was a snap of magic on her skin and Hermione recoiled as did Rabastan. “I need to go.” He said hurriedly, the books falling from his lap and the elves all rushing to right everything “We can meet again.”

He was gone before she could protest, her arm was bright red from where his magic lashed out at her and she frowned, rubbing it and deciding the best way to spend more time with anyone was to figure out a way to meter magic, or protect herself.  
  


* * *

  
It was the last she had seen of Rabastan for four days time, November brought seemingly endless rain and she found herself mostly sticking to her room, also, perhaps cruelly, avoiding the other man in the house.

Opening the door, she went to greet Leta, her unfailing muggle portrait only to notice that it had been covered again, probably by one of the elves. She sighed and grabbed the sheet, wondering if the elves hoped that by covering her conversation partner that she would stop speaking to her.

Rain pitter pattered on the windows and she could hear Pierrot scuffling upstairs to stop the leaks, and she tugged on the dust cloth, pulling it off the six foot tall portrait and saw why it had been covered. Leta was gone.

Not a muggle portrait, an obstinate magical portrait.

A crack of thunder followed quickly by a flash of lightning and Hermione let the cloth fall to her feet, frustrated that even portraits ignored her in this damned house and headed down to the cavern library only to hear angry voices in the foyer a few feet from her room.

“Where is he?” A woman snapped angrily and she could feel a rush of magic as a glass case was shattered. “Baby Rabby is missing  _ school _ .”

Hermione stepped away from the foyer and backwards towards where she knew the sitting room to be, hoping that she could disappear into the depths of the house to avoid any visitors.

Footsteps followed her and she quickly entered the sitting room, shutting the door, the woman was singing  _ Pop Goes the Weasel _ very loudly and off key, she heard pottery shattering and then the wails of a house elf, each refrain punctuated by something breaking and Hermione quickly doused the fire and disappeared down the stone halls into the library as fast as her feet could take her.

She tripped on her way down the stairs into the sitting area, stumbling over the carpeting as she struggled to regain her footing and then breezed back into the stacks that were not well lit on the far side of the library, crouching down behind a bookcase, holding her breath even though her heart beat wildly in her chest, she covered her mouth with her hand, her wand in the other.

She felt a rush of magic surge into the room and a spell arced over head, spilling an entire shelf of books at the back of the cave wall, landing on top of her legs and she pulled them in closer, trying not to make a noise even though pain radiated from one of her shins.

“Did you kill him Roddy?” The woman asked and then there was that laughter, the one that haunted her dreams, and she hid her face in her knees. Bellatrix LeStrange. “Did you kill him without me? Our lord would be very displeased if you killed him without me, should I tell him?”

Hermione looked up to see if she could see Rodolphus and Bellatrix and instead caught movement beside her. She saw Rabastan pressed up against a bookshelf as well, staring at her. She looked at him helplessly. He could do no magic, and she could not duel to save her life, literally or figuratively. Her time with Professor Moody last month taught her that much.

“He’s not dead,” Rodolphus’ voice was clear. “There is no one in this house but us.”

A lie that Hermione also believed at one point.

She could start to feel that static in the air and she knew Rabastan’s magic was becoming unstable with his mood, if he released any magic, their hiding place would be given away and they’d both be dead. She did not expect Rodolphus to kill his wife for his brother and a mudblood.

Hermione grabbed onto his arm “Calm down.” She hissed, his magic stung as it ripped through her.

“Someone is here.” Bellatrix countered “Severus has been here, spy, traitor. He is coming here every Sunday for some reason, and I intend to find out.”

“Did Severus not assist Narcissa? Why is he a spy this time?” Rodolphus sounded annoyed.

So, even if Rodolphus was under the Headmaster’s command, his wife was not. That was an interesting divide. She felt Rabastan tense as footsteps came nearer and she held her breath, as he moved the both of them deeper into the library, away from whoever came to find them.

They both sat behind a shelf, peeking through the gap between the volumes and the next shelf above to see Rodolphus flipping through a book idly as Bellatrix chased ghosts, cursing shadows with jets of bright red light, books scattering across the floor. Rodolphus looked unwell, as unwell as he was when they first met, an ashen pallor, dark smudges under his eyes, and that unfocused gaze that unsettled her. Remembering how he was before he left, her heart ached. It was not the same LeStrange that left her a month prior.

“She is mad.” Rabastan whispered next to her.

She saw another shelf of books skitter across the floor, the  _ thwack _ of each book hitting against stone echoed throughout the cave.

Bellatrix came within six feet of them, Rabastan holding her closer to him, for her protection or his, she wasn’t sure. She closed her eyes, waiting for the curse but it never came.

“I tire of this game,” Rodolphus' voice was suddenly very close and Hermione felt the burn of Rabastan’s magic. “We leave now.”

Bellatrix stepped away from where they hid and made a cooing noise before whispering something to Rodolphus, and walking away humming the refrain of  _ Pop Goes the Weasel _ . Hermione thought she would pass out from the stinging pain of magic that was not her own and the fear of being caught by an insane Death Eater. It hurt so badly her nerve endings were going numb. She gritted her teeth, willing herself not to make a noise.

Rodolphus locked eyes with her, and then he stepped away from their hiding place, following their wife out, the books beginning to stack themselves as he passed. His footsteps were slow and heavy, and Hermione fought the unnatural urge to follow him.

Rabastan fell away from her as if she was made of fire, sitting back and staring at her like he had never seen her before. “You’re hurt, fuck, fuck, I broke his oath.”

“I’m not hurt.” She lied, but she looked down at her hands and saw them, the black lines that had appeared on Rodolphus now formed on her left hand, creating bracelets that ended halfway up her forearm, and instead of being disgusted, she was curious, is this what magic looked like?

Rabastan darted away from her and she was left in the darkness alone, staring at the marks, pain radiated from her hand, it felt as if she had put her hand in a fire. How many of the black marks on his older brother came from him?

How powerful was Rabastan that he could cause these marks from touch alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no good men in war.
> 
> We have finally introduced Rabastan! He is a bit of a stalker, but I like the dedication.


	6. Chapter 6

The rain let up the next day and she was walking around the dead kitchen garden, the fall had taken life away from the remaining herbs, and the elves had picked the majority, letting them dry upside down in the windows, obscuring any view she might have of the house. Her hand ached, it was swollen now, and she wasn’t sure that she could hide the injuries despite her attempts at following some healing spells she had found in a book this morning.

The mud soiled her trainers and she kicked it to get out some of her frustration. If she wanted to have any company she would have to solve the problem of Rabastan’s unpredictable magic, and she would have to get word to Professor Snape he was being followed, lest they get any more unexpected visitors.

A shadow moved across the windows and though she could not see it, she knew who it was. Another LeStrange, another obstinate, temperamental man that drove her mad. She wrapped her cardigan, a heavy grey thing that obscured her almost completely, and started to head out towards the coastline in order to get away from any of that family.

She should learn how to duel in case Bellatrix returned, but if Rodolphus took his wife’s side instead of hers, then she would be dead regardless of how much she trained. She had never seen someone as fast as he was with spellwork. Not even Professor Snape in his mock duels in the ill-fated dueling club could strike as fast as Rodolphus, and she wasn’t sure of any Order member who was as skilled as he.

If all Death Eaters were as talented, the Order stood no chance.

Casting a warming charm she sat down on the dead, wet grass and stared as hard as she could in the direction of England, hoping for some sign of how Harry and Ron were doing. Were they back at Hogwarts now? Or were they on a mission of their own? Did they even miss her anymore now that she had been gone for so long? Had they forgotten about her? 

Doubt ate at her, a thousand scenarios where Hermione Granger was simply cut out of the narrative of the war, and she became nobody to everyone. No longer part of the Golden Trio, The Order, or even the Know-It-All of Gryffindor. How long before she was erased from existence? She felt as if her identity was being completely stripped from her, and what was left after that? Hermione Granger, LeStrange estate prisoner, universally hated by elves, annoyance to all Death Eater Turn-Coats.

She huffed.

Hermione Granger, terrible duelist, reader of old bank books.

She pulled her knees to her chest and huffed again.

Hermione Granger, alone.

Her chest ached and she knew that cinnamon milk was not going to help, there was no way for her to strike out and create a new identity in France, and what if she returned to England in a year, in a few months? She would have to wait yet another year to take her NEWTs, and no employer would take someone held back a year.

Hermione Granger, homeless and unemployed.

Would the Headmaster even let a dissenter like her back to Hogwarts? She felt salt water and brushed away her tears. She could just become a muggle again, take her O levels by distance learning, or something, and forget all this stupid magic. A simple wand snap and she could forget being a witch.

She looked down at her swollen and red hand and wondered if she too would have problems being non-magical.

Hermione shook her head and tried to rid herself from her thoughts. She would solve the most immediate problem first, getting Rabastan’s magic under control so she could have company. Walking along the cliffs and trying to find a spot of driftwood, or a tree, she had not seen any on her walk towards the small fishing port, so the only way was the opposite way towards a place Rodolphus had called Belle-Dunne. 

The further away she got from Le Tourmont, the more a plan solidified in her head. Wand making could not be too terribly difficult, ancient witches and wizards had to have discovered it somehow. She knew that any wood she would have to get had to be untouched, and all the firewood had disappeared after it was chopped up that night.

It was a cloudy day and after one hour she found herself trying to scale down the cliffside towards a small beach to pick up some driftwood she had seen from afar, the cliffside kept crumbling underneath her feet as she descended, and halfway down she realized she had made a huge mistake, her hand hurt and yet still she was clinging to clods of dirt as she went down a twelve foot sheer drop. 

She tumbled half the way down, losing her grip three feet from the sandy shoreline and sat on the wet sand for a moment, the dampness soaking into her jeans, before heading to grab the few pieces of driftwood, the  _ only _ wood she had seen for the past ninety minutes of her walk, and stared back at the mistake she had made.

She could not apparate, and she could not bring the wood back up the cliff either, nor was she sure that she could reach the small outcroppings she had slid down. She held the bundle of driftwood and continued her path down the beach towards Belle-Dunne, hoping that it wasn’t much further and the town would meet the beach, allowing her to climb back onto the plains and back home.

Unfortunately, as the beach stretched endlessly, crabs and birds keeping her company along with the swirling grey clouds above, she did not calculate for the tide that was making the strip of beach smaller and smaller until it almost wasn’t.

Icy sea water lapped at her feet, her trainers making a disgusting  _ schlock schlock _ as she continued to trudge forward.

“Miss Granger,” A voice called from above and she saw Rabastan walking alongside her on the cliffside some twelve feet above her head “We are nearing high tide, are you done?”

Startled by the noise, and wondering how long he had watched her, Hermione swallowed her embarrassment and hoped he did not notice the blush suffuse on her skin.

“I am just walking to find a way to get off the beach,” She replied, continuing her walk further, her socks squishing between her toes.

“If you’re done, we could get you off the beach.” Rabastan called back, his voice getting carried away on another wind as waves crashed against the shore, lapping higher and drenching her jeans up to her shins, it made her hair stand on end.

“Do you have a rope?” She called back, stopping to turn to the man on top of the cliff “It’s cold.”

A second person appeared and her heart stopped, it was Rodolphus, who leaned down to look at her “Are you a witch, or aren’t you?”

“I cannot apparate.”

A crack and suddenly he was beside her “All you have to do is ask.”

He grabbed her around her waist and she felt  _ warmth _ flood her at the touch of another human being, and with a tug they disappeared again, back on top of the cliffside.

Rodolphus held her for a few moments, unsteady on her feet, her teeth chattering. Wet, and tired from walking.

He spoke first not to her, but to her brother “She’ll get tired? Not before she dies.”  
  


* * *

  
There was the familiar scraping of wooden spoon against metal as Rodolphus hunched over the stove to boil milk, and Hermione cast drying charms carefully on her hair, sitting as close to the stove as would be considered acceptable, Rabastan was checking over the driftwood.

“I remember reading that it has to be  _ unspoilt _ wood, so I don’t know if it will fit the bill.” Hermione said idly “It is in good condition, I guess the only thing to do is to try.”

“You’re going to get sick.” Rodolphus said behind her.

“Fine.” Hermione snapped back, angry with him, but she wasn’t sure why.

“If you want wand wood we can go to Germany,” The older brother continued “The Black Forest has good wand wood.”

“Miss Granger got  _ this _ wood for me, and I want this wood.” Rabastan countered inspecting it “It is good enough for now.”

Her hand ached, the black marks were now blossoming into purple bruises, intersecting with the other rings like vines, she held it towards the stove door, sitting on an impossibly low chair, so close to Rodolphus she could smell the salt water and sandalwood of his cologne.

Rodolphus shifted slightly to allow for her to bask in the warmth of the stove. “I will stay tonight,” He said adding the cinnamon “I've asked Severus to stop checking in on you, let's see if he listens.”

Rabastan rolled his eyes “He did not check, he lectured her and went on his way.”

She let her eyes close briefly and heard three taps of the spoon on the edge of the pot, the conversation switched from English to French and she knew that whatever they wanted to talk about, it did not include her, but it did involve her name. They said it the same way, it rolled around in her dreams at night ‘ _ Er-my-own _ .

Calloused fingers on her swollen hand and she opened her eyes again to see Rodolphus sitting in an elf chair next to her, gently inspecting the damage. “Spell damage, maybe we should have kept you on the shore, the ice water would have fixed the swelling.”

“The bruise salve did not work.” She muttered trying to pull it away, angry with him still for some unknown reason “It will heal, I just need to find the spell.”

“It will heal because I will heal it.” Rodolphus insisted and grabbed his wand, bumping her wrist roughly as he moved, a shock of pain causing her to pull away quickly, cradling it to her chest.

His fingers were tender, no apology made in anything but touch, and he cast a cooling charm followed by a spell she did not know, and the pain disappeared along with the bruising that was starting to bloom, leaving three thin black lines. “These will not disappear.”

“You have them.” She replied

“We have that in common,” He replied and she looked up at him and saw that he was staring back at her.

She took her hand back away from him and instead wrapped them around the hot mug of cinnamon milk, sipping on it and ignoring the difference it made when he made it rather than she. The tiredness of depression stripped away, replaced with an all encompassing contentment.

“Bellatrix will not return tonight?” Rabastan asked quietly, in English, instead of French

A pause. “No. No, I’ve changed the wards.”

The tension left the room, a breath they were all holding, and the first hint of a smile played at Rabastan’s lips.

Safety.  
  


* * *

  
There was something so intimate in the way that Rodolphus and Rabastan interacted with each other in front of her, it was as if she was an intruder in the library and they spoke in French, the hushed tones would be broken every so often by a drawn out syllable, before they continued. Perhaps it was her lack of understanding of the context that made her believe there was some intimacy to it, for all she knew they could be discussing how best to murder her.

Wandmaking was, in fact, a very difficult and finicky process, and she was on the second incredibly dry book about wood carving spells, an entire branch of magic that was to take wood and imbue it with the ability to receive magic. It was easy for the wood to catch fire, or to burst, and so she was reading a chapter on safety when she nodded off, only to snap herself back awake quickly. 

Rabastan abruptly changed the conversation into English when she righted herself on the couch, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands. “Do you think it is the end of it then?”

Rodolphus narrowed his eyes at his brother and his eyes traveled from Rabastan to Hermione and she busied herself with her book. “There is no end, no easy end. We are in service until we die, it is clear to me that there is no difference in lords, only in names.”

She interjected herself into the conversation “One believes muggleborns should die, and-”

“Means to an end, the end goal is control, what that control looks like is different, we either abandon wizard tradition, or we abandon muggle progress.” Rodolphus waved her off airily.

“Progress is inevitable.” Rabastan countered his brother “Miss Granger is proof of progress.”

“That her lord has shut out,” Rodolphus said “I have been to their meetings, half bloods, werewolves, and even veela sit in that room, but for a group dedicated to protecting muggleborn children, there’s a noticeable lack  _ of _ them. Muggleborns are a platform, not a cause.”

“Even if I was a platform, at least I’d be able to do magic.”

“Until you are a useless platform for the people, muggleborn children are only so useful as all remember Grindelwald, anything that is the opposite of the wizarding terror that destroyed most of Europe and half of England is  _ en vogue _ .” Rodolphus said and leaned forward to stare at her “And before the war has ended, you, Miss Granger, are no longer part of the platform, you are here, making wands out of driftwood.”

It felt like she had been punched, she quickly bowed her head towards the book she had been reading, finding that Rodolphus somehow understood exactly every single one of her weak points and exploited them ruthlessly in less than a few minutes of her time.

“This platform is going to bed.” Hermione hissed, trying to hide her hurt. “Goodnight.”

“Apologize.” Rabastan demanded to his brother.

She breezed past them, her book in hand and heard nothing more from the older brother, or from either of them. She walked up the large stone hallway, the wall sconces blurred from angry tears. Rodolphus knew exactly how to anger her, even his mere presence incensed her. What kind of man had she missed this month? What kind of man had she dreamed about with his poncy French accent and black eyes? Stupid, odious man.

Footsteps came behind her and she sped up, unwilling for a confrontation with either of the two brothers in the library. She didn’t want them to see her like this, vulnerable, human,  _ hurt _ . She didn’t want to give either of them more reason to hate muggleborns, a class of people she herself felt responsible for representing.

“Miss Granger,” Rodolphus’ voice was clear in the muted dark hallway and she continued faster. “Miss Granger, let me speak with you.”

It was dark except for the shadows of the two people in the long underground chamber, she could hear his breathing fast and shallow, anger teeming at the surface.

“What do you want with me?” She answered, her fury matching her frustration that she couldn’t please him, that she couldn’t  _ prove _ that muggleborns are not what he had thought.

“What do you want from me?” The shadow of Rodolphus countered, his hand came out and grabbed her wrist and she pulled away from him.

She didn’t know what to say, his fingers were tight around her wrist and the darkness seemed to become suffocating in the small stone hallway, they no longer were in Europe, or on earth at all, suspended in time. Isolation had driven her to madness, and unable to see him fully led her to honesty.

“I want you to stop looking down on me!” Her voice was so loud it echoed off the walls “You dine with me just to examine me as if I am some sort of  _ creature _ that managed to learn how to mimic a human. You study me when I eat, when I sleep, and mock me when I speak. I hate you, I hate the way you think I am not fit to be a witch, that I can’t even be in your presence without  _ lowering _ yourself to be with bloody Miss Mudblood.”

The next word was her name, said in that rolling French lilt that made her stomach turn.

“Hermione, It’s not that-”

“Then what?” She accused, stepping back away from him, jerking her wrist away but he held tighter. Panic replaced anger as she realized she was disadvantaged. “Let me go!”

Suddenly, with the swiftness that only a duelist could possess, he was close to her, her body inches from his. She could smell the cinnamon on his breath and feel the heat radiating off his body. She could not see his face for the darkness but could feel his fury “How is it that you seem to think my  _ interest _ is  _ disgust _ ?” The words were spoken a mere inch or two from her ear.

Hermione stilled and he dropped her wrist but they did not move apart, she could hear his heartbeat, and her own. A roaring part of her brain kept telling her to step away, to step back from him, but she did not.

“You don’t need to prove yourself to me, or to anyone.” Rodolphus continued after silence. “I know what it’s like to be used.” His voice was so low that it sent shivers down her spine. She felt as if she was getting close to the devil himself “It doesn’t need to happen to you too.”

Every cell in her body screamed at her, to edge closer to him in the darkness, to touch him, and she knew that he was so close to the truth, that Rodolphus LeStrange knew more about Hermione Granger than any other living person. He knew more about her than she knew of herself.

She stepped back. “I won’t be used.”

He edged forward “I’ll make sure of it.”

Why did it sound like a threat? She stumbled back away from him, the heel of her mary jane’s catching on the flagstones before she darted back up the hallway, her heart beating wildly, but not from the exercise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "its fucked up how there are like 1000 christmas songs but only 1 song aboutr the boys being back in town"
> 
> Things are going to start picking up from the glacial pace of seduction, and into something more like romance. I don't know how to make my characters get over their hang ups quickly without doing a transformation. Expect to see more familiar faces as we progress, especially my personal favorites: Lucius and Severus.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day was a Sunday. It was as dreary as the last, light barely filtering in through the windows of the kitchen, obscured by layers and layers of white clouds. Eggs and toast sizzled happily in the frying pan near her as Alice cooked breakfast. She was the first one up, unable to sleep, so she watched the sunrise with the elves as they busied themselves making the house fit for the day, she could hear Pierrot off the side of the house splitting wood with magic, which made a sickening  _ crack _ that traveled quickly through the cold morning air.

It was watching the coast lighten with morning sun out the kitchen window, crowded with drying herbs where Rabastan found her.

“I found an interesting book on wandmaking with sea wood.” He said in lieu of a greeting “If you’d like to read today.”

“I would,” She replied turning away from the scenery “It seems like it is getting too cold to walk around outside anyways.”

“Did Dolph speak with you?” He continued, stepping closer to her, handing her one of the books he carried this morning, an ancient book bound in dark brown leather that was worn almost to rags around the edges “About what he said in the library.”

“He spoke with me.” She agreed, not willing to divulge anything more.

“Miss Granger,” Rabastan said quietly, drawing out her name as he gathered his thoughts, his voice breathed over the syllables gently. “You have no enemies in this house.”

“The distance between enemies and friends is very large,” She replied, flipping open a book and looking at the neatly scrawled italian. “You are bound by oath.”  
“I am not bound by anything.” Rabastan replied, a bit peeved.

“Your brother is.”

Her acerbic reply cut off any further arguments from him, but he did not move from her side, quiet and tall with that electrical warmth of presence she had grown to associate with the younger of the two brothers. “He is.” He agreed after a long silence “You are not.”

“I am bound by this house.” She said bitterly as elves moved around them.

Rabastan looked around, as if trying to see the chains that confined her but found none, his eyes rested on hers, his hair, still messy from sleep, fell askew in front of his face. “We make our own bindings.”

“I did not ask to be here, I am supposed to be at school.”

He did not reply to her but instead moved closer to her, leaning over the sink to peer out the window closer, the steam from the teapot fogging up the edges. “You see him right?” He asked pointing towards a small black dot out by the sea, treading on the cliffside she usually spent most of her time at.

“Rodolphus?” She queried, leaning close so that she could get a better look, even though he was at least half a kilometer away from the house.

“It is those people who bind you, Hermione.” He tapped on the glass “They’ve come to check on you.”

“The Order.” She breathed, her own breath fogging the glass, and she hated herself, for realizing the truth, that her friends had become her enemies.

She did not like The Order much, regardless of what that made her, and she knew from what Rodolphus had said to Professor Snape a few weeks earlier, there were only two ways to be in relation to the Order, with them or against them. This polarization was easy for her at first, it gave her a clear enemy, but now it made her the clear enemy.

Dissension in the ranks deserved nothing less than solitary confinement. She watched on as one black dot by the sea became two, the wards keeping them far enough away that she could not tell who had come, but she assumed it had something to do with Professor Snape not being able to visit her this Sunday.

Brushing by the two of them Rodolphus tore through the kitchen, either eager or angry she couldn’t be sure, shrugging on his robes to meet their visitors, his wand at hand, his hair tied back loosely to contain it’s wildness in an effort to look respectable for unexpected guests. It was half past seven, and as soon as he entered the kitchen he exited, crossing the garden in purposeful strides, the wind billowing his cloak behind him, cutting a dramatic figure in the dead patch of garden and across the brown fields.

She stepped back from the window, anxiety bubbling in her empty stomach, and she jumped when the kettle began to whistle. There could be nothing good with them checking up on her. The last time they came to check, she had to duel with Professor Moody.

The wards flashed white and the two figures crossed the lawn to meet an impatient Rodolphus, she recognized one as Moody, and the other had a shock of red hair, Tonks.

“I don’t want to meet them,” She said quietly and moved to leave the kitchen and go outside to keep them away from the house and the other occupant that shouldn’t exist. “But I must.”

“Wait for them to come to you,” Rabastan cautioned, his voice quiet. “If they have come to check, let them.”

She agreed with him, on the surface it was because she owned no winter wear and had no robes thick enough to meet them outside with Rodolphus, and eventually they came towards the house, the three of them, and she turned to see Rabastan was no longer there. Hermione exited for the sitting room, laying in wait for The Order, her wand tight in her hand.

They filed into the sitting room behind Rodolphus who sat down next to her on the couch that was still covered with a dust cloth, the three elves lined themselves up against a far wall. Hermione covered her wrist that bore the marks of Rabastan’s magic.

Professor Moody and Nymphadora Tonks both sat in the two uncovered chairs nearest the fire, she could still see her books from the previous night, stacked neatly beside her chair as Tonks settled herself into it.

“Wotcher ‘Mione, my Uncle said that Moody here needed some  _ supervision _ ,” Tonks explained cheerfully and side eyed the other auror with a smile “I wouldn’t miss some girl time with my favorite Gryffindor.”

Rodolphus stiffened next to her “This is not a social call.”

“You are not in a place to make demands, death eater.” Moody barked out, annoyed that he had to bring anyone with him at all. 

Tonks hair went from a bright red to a more demure burgundy as she surveyed the room. “Is this where you conduct your research, ‘Mione?”

The nickname grated on her, reminding her of a life she no longer was permitted. She bunched her hands into the loose fabric of her pajama pants, trying to meter out any frustration through the fabric and onto the floors. 

“Yes, books are books.” She replied quietly and then cleared her throat, asking innocently, “Is there a reason you are here instead of Professor Snape?”

“Grown partial to him?” Moody’s voice was like gravel, “Or is it something else?”

Rodolphus moved to grab his wand, but Hermione coughed, a shiver running through her, fear or derision, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t want him to get in trouble, or worse, for her to be caught in the crossfire between him and two aurors, one of which did not appear to have ethics.

“He’s her Professor,” Tonks admonished “And familiar now, right? You’ve been on this mission for two months now, it’s hard to change handlers.”

“Will you be coming every Sunday instead?” Hermione changed the topic, she wanted to get out of this conversation quickly, something felt distasteful, that  _ pity _ that made her mouth dry up and bitter.

“No,” Tonks cut off Professor Moody who had opened his mouth to say something but was immediately cut off “‘Mione do you have any rooms I can see? Would like to look around this drafty old place, not just your office.” She winked and Hermione’s blood ran cold.

“Are you planning on making an offer on the house, Miss Nymphadora?”

“Uncle,” The metamorphmagus replied curtly and stood up, offering a hand to Hermione “Let’s go see this  _ manor _ and have some girl chat.”

Hermione followed Tonks the short walk down the hall from the sitting room to where she slept, looking up at Leta LeStrange for some guidance before stepping into her small room with the female auror. The portrait did not move, as typical for the bride of LeStrange.

“Small room.” Tonks said casting some revealing charms, the remnants of Hermione’s wards glowed red around the doorframe “Good warding work you’ve done there, is there a reason?”

“What leads you to believe I’ve been mistreated?” Hermione replied, annoyed at the thought that anyone cared that much at all about their continental prisoner.

“I know my own Uncle, he’s got a temper on him and a mean streak as wide as the English channel.” Tonks continued to do some more revealing charms, she briefly saw a flicker of a murky purple magic that flowed through the walls of the house “He’s not supposed to be here with you. No one is, so you can do your research in peace, of course.”

Hermione wondered if everyone thought she was as daft as they treated her. A research project no one knew the particulars of, or asked about for two months time? How could they both think her to be as smart and as stupid as all this? As Tonks continued to survey the room, Hermione looked out over the grounds, willing her own temper to keep in check.

“Is my Uncle treating you well?”

“I don’t really see him, so I can’t say.” A lie.

“He asks about you, about your project.”

Hermione’s mind filled in the obvious answer, Rodolphus had told her immediately that Professor Snape and him both thought it was a red herring. If he was asking others, he simply was looking for confirmation. As the thought came and went, a final burst of golden light and the walls pulsed with a foreign magic that made her skin crawl.

“What did you do?”

“Just some wards, you mean a lot to us ‘Mione, we can’t have you getting hurt.” Tonks said with a dazzling smile. “We all miss you up in Grimmauld, but the Headmaster told us all how important you are to our victory.”

“And Harry?” Hermione asked quietly, no tone of urgency.

“His grades are slipping without you around, Remus says he’s never seen two people fall so far in one semester.”

“We all make sacrifices,” She felt morose, thinking of the final year that never would happen now that she had tried to get Harry to go off to destroy the final parts of Voldemort’s soul. “For the greater good.”

As if it was in closing to a prayer Tonks repeated the last phrase “For the greater good.”

The two of them exited the room and Hermione pulled the door shut to see Leta LeStrange missing again, leaving her empty frame, a garden scene, behind. Tonks' wards buzzed with an unwelcome magic in the quiet house and she mentally made a note to break them as they walked back towards the sitting room together, matching her pace with the auror.

She could hear voices in the sitting room, Rodolphus’ voice was low and deadly, she could not hear it through the wood, but Moody’s was clear.

“-nothing more despicable than trying to get up the skirt of a  _ schoolgirl _ .”

“You seem keen on showing your face around here a lot too, old man.” Rodolphus' voice was deadly quiet and Hermione stopped in the hall to listen, even if Tonks did not “You don’t seem the type to just  _ try _ .”

“Right then!” Tonks voice was clear as she entered and the two men were at wandpoint near where Hermione knew the door to the Cavern Library was “All done here, we’ll be back in one week’s time.”

“Don’t rush,” Rodolphus said, stepping towards Hermione and away from Moody who was breathing heavily. “I have been told her project has an indefinite timeline.”

Moody muttered something, and she only caught the word  _ cunt _ and Hermione flushed red, which only seemed to incense Rodolphus. 

“Thank you for coming Tonks, Professor Moody.” Hermione interjected before anyone else could speak. “I hope to give you an update next week, or Professor Snape, whoever can make it.”

“Miss Granger,” Moody practically barked at her on the way out and she shuffled towards Rodolphus, afraid of Moody's magical eye that swirled around before landing on her again. “We’ll be in touch.”

Rodolphus followed them out, and Hermione followed him to the large foyer which was almost never in use by the way their footsteps left marks in the thin layer of dust that had gathered.

Pierrot opened the door and bowed low to the two aurors, and they walked down the expansive stairs to the gravel drive, the only noise was the waves crashing and the gravel of their boots.

“Did she hurt you?” He asked

“No,” She replied and looked up to see the feared Death Eater, murderer, torturer, lord of the house checking her over critically for any sign she had been man-handled by the Ministry of Magic “Why did they visit?”

“They’re looking for something,” He said, watching them disappear behind the hill of the drive “Or you know something. They’re worried.”

“Worried?”

“There’s another agenda at play. One you and I are not privy to.”

Hermione huffed “Even if I did know something, it’s not like I’d tell  _ them _ .”

She’d show them what dissension looked like.  
  


* * *

  
The room was glowing gold and the three of them stood a few inches in front of Leta’s empty portrait “I don’t break curses, I cast them.” Rodolphus sounded annoyed and he cast a few more spells.

“If you agitate them too much it notifies the caster.” Rabastan warned next to her and Rodolphus turned to look at the two of them, muttering something in French before leaving the two of them alone

“What did he say?” She queried.

Rabastan shook his head “Nothing polite.”  
  


* * *

  
Rabastan, unlike his brother, had a type of melancholy that settled into his skin and hers. A sadness that felt familiar even as he walked through the library with her. A sadness she had known all her life, and had become recently very familiar with: loneliness. His voice was quiet and even, cautious as if any word would immediately scare her away. 

He had found her sleeping on the velvet couch, afraid of her room and the gold magic that buzzed like the wings of a hummingbird when she got close. He woke her a few moments ago, they walked back through the stacks, into a part of the library where they stored all their scrolls. He was speaking about the first wands, an ancient manuscript he had found the day before while staying away from The Order members had visited. 

Every so often, his hand would come out to guide her, a gentle touch to tell her to turn with him, or to get her attention. He said more with his hands than his mouth, a gentleness that could not be spoken in words. A kindness that she craved.

She was sitting on the floor with him, hidden from the world, the air full of dust and parchment, the ashen smell of dried ink made from burning wood thousands of times, and the pale glow of the translation charm as she read a manuscript from 1055 on creating yew wands in Scotland.

He sat next to her, his back against the bookshelves, the only noise besides breath was a page turning every so often.

“You think we look down on you.” Rabastan said, his voice gentle. “Why?”

“You both are branded,” She pointed out to the bottom of his dark mark, the snake slithered around in response to being mentioned “It is not as if your bigotry is a secret.”

His opposite hand came to the tattoo “Not by choice.”  
Revulsion roiled around in her stomach, wondering if Rodolphus had made him sign up against his will. “Rodol-”

“No, not my brother.” He cut through her thoughts “Our father...our father was loyal and believed in the politics.” He rubbed the tattoo absentmindedly while staring at a shelf full of scrolls, the aged gold handles caught the firelight of a nearby torch “ The LeStrange family, until recent history, has been known to be outside of politics. It is in our name, and my great-grandfather was the first to break it, in England, when he was Minister.”

Rabastan looked at the tattoo, and nothing else. “That’s when the problems began.”

She sat back next to him, their shoulders touching in some sort of comfort. 

He let out a frustrated sigh, closing the book. “I believe we have been cursed.”

“By who?”

“Fate? It can’t be a coincidence that the last three generations of my family have turned out this way.” He tilted his head back against the shelves, mimicking his older brother, his hair fell around his shoulders, and she wondered why all the men in this family had to look like they were made of marble. “Or maybe we’re just well and truly fucked.”

Hermione pulled her knees to her chest “Do you think you will become the same? As your father and grandfather?”

“Do you think you can control fate?” He asked, his voice low, afraid of being overheard, but she was not sure by whom.

“Of course,” She replied, putting her chin on her knees “It is ours to control.”

“Of course,” He repeated, a hint of a smile blooming on his features.

The smallest of changes in Rabastan, like his smile, his touch, or his personality, had the most profound impacts on her. He handled her with a care she was unused to, boys her age thought she  _ was _ one of the boys, or a reference library, and the war made her into a soldier before a woman. He didn’t. His presence was warm like firelight, and his patience endless as she completed her work on translating and reading the ancient spellwork contained in the scroll

Hermione was muttering the incantations mentioned at the end of the spell, trying different intonations when the candlelight was blotted out and the two of them were eclipsed in shadow.

The older brother, who was wearing nothing but a white linen shirt and rolled pants, his hair somewhat tamed and that forced awkward smile which she had discovered was his response to trying to be more  _ personable _ towards her, playing on his face. “We have a visitor, I want him to meet you.”

She began to roll the scroll back up from where it was on the floor, not looking at him. “If it’s another Order member, I am currently indisposed.”

Rabastan stood up next to his brother, the two of them towered over her, they were at least six feet tall if not taller, cutting an impressive set before her. There was some kind of dangerous beauty in the two of them, a fire she could not touch, and should not touch. One was married to a witch that haunted her nightmares, the laugh even now woke her at two in the morning, as the moon dipped from it’s perch in the sky. The other, she knew that there was something simmering beneath his gentleness, beneath his kind words and warmth.

“No,” Rodolphus said and held out a hand to her “He is here to undo their work, a curse breaker.”

The curse breaker was a very ragged looking Lucius Malfoy, his skin the same ashen color, and his hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for a few days and his woolen suit, that reminded her of what Rodolphus was wearing, had wrinkles. Despite all of his appearance, he had that kind of air that Draco Malfoy aimed to possess. A presence that drove out any doubt of who he was and what his Gringotts balance was.

“This is her?” He asked in the hall.

Her expression asked the same question. Was this really the all powerful Lucius Malfoy? He looked on the edge of death and dreams. 

“A curse breaker.” She said as they came to a stop in front of Leta LeStrange’s portrait “I thought you were a politician?”

“It’s a hobby.” Malfoy Sr demurred, pulling his wand out of his cane that seemed to function as more than an imposing decoration these days. “Rodolphus said your room has been cursed.”

“Warded.” She corrected “At least, that is what I have been told.”

“There is some kind of detection charm of her comings and goings from this room.” Rodolphus cut in and waved his wand to show the shimmer of the wards “Remove it.”

Lucius rolled his eyes, his hands going back to his hair that was now escaping from the loose ponytail at the nape of his neck before remember it was already tied and his hands stilled, as if he had been caught doing something illegal and immediately put them at his sides, his wand tip catching a few more strands and pulling them loose.

A silence stretched between the group.

“Tea?” Rabastan asked beside her.

She never thought she’d see the day where a haughty pureblood looked grateful at the offer of something so simplistic. How had she considered them to be invincible when they all were suffering so clearly before her? Who or what was The Order fighting? The Malfoy patriarch had the same look she had, the same look they all had, that dim flicker of  _ loneliness _ .

After a fashion, they went into the library sitting room, she pulled the dust cloth off of the small couch now that they were taking more visitors to this abandoned estate, revealing a jewel toned blue and gold ornate thing that looked about as comfortable as sitting on the floor. She sat down and immediately was sandwiched between the two brothers.

Lucius Malfoy was staring into the tea cup and swirling around the tea leaves at the bottom, telling his own fortune before he decided to speak with the rest of them. She did the same.

“Ask her.” Rodolphus ordered and he looked up from the tea.

“How much do you know about this Order, Miss Granger?” Mr. Malfoy asked, his finger playing with the edge of the tea cup.

Suddenly, she was acutely aware that she was surrounded by enemies, her hand shook and she set the tea cup on her lap. “Why?”

“Rodolphus told me you knew why you’re here.” Mr. Malfoy’s voice held frustration, and desperation, two emotions she was well acquainted with “And why you’re here with  _ us _ . Is that not the case?”

“It is the case,” She said warily “But I will not help the Dark Lord.”

“We are not here for the Dark Lord, Miss Granger, and the Dark Lord is not holding my son hostage in a castle in  _ Scotland _ .”

“The Order’s mission is good.” She insisted “I won’t help you kill more muggleborns.”

“I am not a murderer.”

“You finance murderers.” She shot back, her heart pounding, no argument would save her if they decided to all turn on her. “Inaction is still action.”

Mr. Malfoy’s eyes flashed with anger. “I am paying, of course I am paying. I am bound in blood to serve the Dark Lord, and now my  _ blood _ is bound by the headmaster as well. I am asking not for your judgement, but for your help to save my son.”

Her anger was stilled by his frankness, and Rodolphus spoke up “Miss Granger is under no obligation to help you.”

She looked over at him only to see him staring back at her.

Mr. Malfoy spoke quietly “Of course not.”

There was an unease over the room, she felt Rabastan shift next to her, his warmth sliding against her skin. A very Slytherin part of her said she should ask for something from him. Retribution for all the pain his son had caused her in school, but the very human part of her, the very Hermione part of her thought otherwise. The LeStrange brothers did not have to help her, did not have to dine with her, did not have to sit with her and help her with the mutinous Order.

She brought the tea cup to her lips, a fine porcelain that they rarely used, the tea burned her lips, and she hoped that this didn’t burn her as well “How can I help?”

“Don’t feel obligated.” Rabastan murmured next to her.

“No,” She spoke louder, “I don’t feel obligated. Even if Mister Malfoy and his son think I am not human, I am human enough to recognize when other people are in need.”

The blonde looked stunned, his teacup and saucer shook as he set it down. “Miss Granger-”

“I hope you’ll remember what a mudblood did for your family.” She said, suddenly all the anxiety of accepting to help a man and his son who have tormented her for her entire life came bubbling up to her skin, and she abruptly left the room.

Nausea warred with her ego. Morally, she knew helping a desperate man was right, but a part of her, a larger part of her, warned that she was only a tool to them, like an elf, or an axe. A means to an end, that would be disposed of when those ends had been reached.

Her shoes clicked off of the wood in empty hallways as she walked towards the kitchens, away from rooms she didn’t belong in, with people she did not belong with. She sat down at the low table, resting her face on her hand and watching Alice magically cut vegetables.

“Miss Mudblood comes to kitchen, Miss Mudblood does not work.”

She got up and started to chop carrots as well next to the elf, plucking one of the magical knives out of the air and chopping them into fine slices, which may or may not have been what the elf wanted, but with her mind preoccupied she could not let it linger on the blonde in the other room.

There was the presence of another beside her, she assumed it was one of the LeStrange brothers so she did not look up. Her eyes darted to the hands of the person beside her, thin, lithe hands, alabaster pale, began to peel a potato over the low sink.

“Our family’s crest reads  _ Sanctimonia Vincet Semper _ ,” Malfoy’s voice was low, and he smelled like whiskey “Purity conquers all. This was not about blood, but of magic. Our family is one of the few that still practices the old magic, the  _ pure _ magic that requires no wand, no muddlement in potions, or arithmancy.”

He began to dice the potato next to her, the knife made a rhythmic sound against the chopping block “It is easy for one to believe, or to be told to believe, that pure magic comes from pure blood, but Rodolphus made me promise before I arrived here to not mention your blood status.”

She looked up from her carrot and stared at him strangely, the dim light from the outside illuminating just how haggard the Malfoy Patriarch looked. He was staring at the potato that was neatly diced into cubes, before picking a second one out. “How can blood purity relate to magic when I am in service to a half blood? How can blood purity relate to magic, when I am in service to a muggleborn? My lineage has no power, but my father’s belief that who his father was made him  _ powerful _ has doomed two generations of this family.”

“Why tell me this?” She asked, unsure of his motives, unsure if she should remain in the kitchen because of his honesty.

“Rodolphus said you could help my son.” He said and tossed a potato into a boiling pot nearby. “My motives are selfish.”

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Mr Malfoy.”

“He said you were like this.” He groused next to her, chopping up the next potato with a little more force than necessary perturbed.  
  
“Like what?”

“Kind.”

The potatoes simmered beside them and they continued to chop the vegetables together by hand, because sometimes they needed something more tactile.

“Kindness is no crime, Mister Malfoy, not in war.” Hermione muttered angrily, feeling as if she was being looked down upon.

“Call me Lucius.” He picked up another potato and began to peel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If people ask me to stop fangirling over Lucius, I will not and I can not. He is a dream.


	8. Chapter 8

Lucius Malfoy was: a political mastermind, a devious bigot, rich beyond her wildest dreams, and a snob. He also liked to cook, break curses, and complain about his wife. He drank expensive whiskey, and whiskey only. 

She nursed a glass of wine at dinner, eating two or three dishes that they had cooked together earlier and listened to him detail Narcissa’s latest shopping habits, and that there was a new child in the house that she  _ needed _ to purchase dresses for.

It came out after a fashion, that Luna Lovegood was being held hostage in his house, similar to Hermione, with similar reasons to Hermione.

“She is bright, Draco says, though I have not seen it. She runs a paper, though I have not read it.” Lucius said staring at his empty glass of whisky “That is why she is with us, I think, the paper business.”

“Luna,” Hermione breathed in awe “She is in your house?”

This must have been the person Professor Snape was talking about earlier with Rodolphus calling her “mad as a march hare.” 

“She spends most of her time coming and going in the woods, I cannot be bothered.” Lucius refilled his cup and stared at it heavily before picking it up “When Narcissa asks after her, she’s been hunting. I suppose she has a mission, just like you, and the Malfoy Wood has something to do with it.”

“She doesn’t have a mission.” Rodolphus said, knowing that the terms of her imprisonment here were a sore spot for all in the room save for Lucius.

“I know, I know, it’s a secret.”

“No, he’s right. There are no missions.” She said, swirling her half empty glass of red wine “We are prisoners, and you are our keepers.”

Acknowledging fraud made her stomach twist. Knowing that her old friends had shunted her and others away to spies and other enemies and the only two she had learned about were both young girls made her mouth dry.

“Do you know of any others?” She asked.

Lucius shook his head, his hair coming loose from it’s messy ponytail. “What is she looking for in the woods, then?”  
  


* * *

  
She woke up cold in her small cupboard of a room, curled into a small ball on the bed, shivering, her face buried in the blankets, and saw that her window had swung open during the night, the cold fall wind blowing in and turning the air to ice.

The curtains reached out to her, billowing helplessly in the wind and she dragged herself, swaddled in the quilt to the window, closing it before turning back to bed, her eyes, bleary with sleep noted she could see the dim glint of gold illuminated by moonlight. The gold paint of the frame of Leta LeStrange’s portrait.

The edges of sleep suddenly batted away from her mind, as she kneeled on the bed to get back in it. If she could see the portrait in the hallway, the door was open.

Finally, adrenaline came last to wake her fully, her hand groping for her wand under her pillow. Her door was open. Her window was open. Someone had come through her room.

She tied the quilt around her neck, her teeth chattering and her fingers numb as they closed around the smooth wood of her wand. Had The Order come back to check on wardings? Had they found them gone and sought retribution from Rodolphus?  
  
The house was dark and the night air from outside had seeped into the hallway, her bare feet were cold. She whipped her wand, whispering _lumos_ under her breath, not wishing to disturb the intruder. As she moved, she listened for another, a creak, a sigh, a sign from the house that someone else had entered. None came, behind her Leta fled her portrait.

She crept towards the foyer, her quilt dragging behind her, bringing the dust that coated the floor along with her and she looked at the large oak front doors, still closed, which meant they had not passed through here, or out here, no one’s breath but her own, no one’s presence but her own. Her heart was beating rapidly and she could see her breath in the air, the autumn chill had infected the house, leaving air that was unfamiliar.

A creak sounded from upstairs and she darted up them as fast as she could, as silently as she could, missing the one that always creaked halfway up, her makeshift cape dragging behind her as she whipped around the banister at the top, ready to curse any attacker. Her heart was in her throat, knowing if was Moody or another auror she would be killed where she stood.

A shadow moved and she knew all she had on her side was the element of surprise, if she did not take her chance, she would lose her life.

“Expelliarmus!” She shouted with such a force that the spell lit the whole hallway, showing three very stunned men briefly as it whizzed past them, hitting an unintended target of an ancient vase, that made a loud shatter before it fell to the ground.

She took a step back, shivering as she realized who she almost cursed with such a force and felt the cloak back her. “It’s you!”

“Hermione!” Rabastan said, shocked. “What is it?”

“Of course it’s us!” Lucius straightened his jacket “What the devil is wrong with you girl?”

Rodolphus moved towards her, his wand lit, his eyes harsh as he put his hand over her wand hand to lower it. “Your hands are like ice.”

“My window was open.” She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment, she hated being so paranoid “And my door was open, I thought someone had broken in.”

Rodolphus took off his robes, a deep purple velvet and slung them around her shoulders, pulling them over her and she was suddenly hotter than she had ever been in her life. She was glad for the darkness, her face was red. He continued to study her and she almost felt like melting into the floor. Were they going to make fun of her now?

Rabastan came to her side immediately, turning his attention from her to the first floor. “No one has been on the second floor, I thought you said you put wards on her room.”

“I did.” Rodolphus countered, annoyed. “I always do.”

“Let’s just go see this then,” Lucius sounded annoyed but the four of them crept together back downstairs, the middle stair creaking and she felt Rabastan’s reassuring hand on her back as they stood in the foyer which was suddenly illuminated by the crooked chandelier. 

“It’s freezing alright,” Lucius said and cast a few warming charms, she did not divest herself of Rodolphus’ robes, instead she hugged them tighter around herself.

The three of them stood a few inches in front of the portrait of Leta LeStrange as Lucius marked the length of her room, casting a few spells.

The room did not glow any color and Lucius cursed a few times quietly, casting a few more impatiently.

“No wards, nothing, not even the magic of the house.” The blonde said, running his fingers back through his hair his eyes narrowed in confusion trying to see something they had missed.

“I set them!” Rodolphus sounded angry beside her “I did.”

“I watched you do them!” Lucius snapped. “I am not doubting you! Someone tried to get into this room tonight, and succeeded. Not a scrap of magic is left.”

She edged closer to Rabastan who sensed her unease and put his arm around her. “I didn’t even wake, the chill woke me. I slept through the whole thing. They could have killed me, or wiped my memories, I would have no way of knowing.”

Rodolphus, obviously irritated, cast another litany of spells, but even though his wand flickered and a string of unintelligible latin came out, the room did not react. No magic was left. He brushed past Lucius, looking at the window that had come open and over the lawn trying to decipher something in the endless stretch of darkness out towards the ocean.

“Take her upstairs,” Rodolphus ordered, beginning to cast some charms, the room lit up like Christmas as the wards settled into the walls “If intruders came, then they probably broke the perimeter wards too.”

Rabastan shook his head “No, I cannot cast any magic without endangering us all. If someone is in the house, I cannot protect her.”

Rodolphus grabbed onto her, pulling her along with him. “We’ll all go out and check the wards then.”

The night was biting cold, and windy, the four of them trudged down over the lawn to the edges of the wards for the estate. There were no stars in the sky, signaling another impending storm, and the only light that could be seen was the glow of firelight on the second floor from where the men were earlier. Waves crashed angrily against the shore, getting louder and more insistent as they walked further away from the house, until they were in total darkness, navigating by wandlight alone.

Rodolphus kept her close to him, holding his wand out to light the way. His warmth was reassuring, but his strides were long, and she was swaddled in both his robes and the quilt for her bed.

The waves crashed against the shore, the sea wind was salty and they stopped just a few feet from where she knew the land ended. He let go of her to kneel down, and she felt the hum of the wards activating, and in a flash of blinding light she could see it all, a dome of light seemed to spring from the ground in a great wave of light glowing before dimming, like a fireworks display of protective magic, and finally, Lucius looked around, stepping back to try and see something she could not see.

“Nothing, I see nothing for miles. The intruder was keyed to your wards.” The blonde said and sent a harmless spell fizzling towards the cliffside, it corkscrewed into an invisible wall, causing the wards to glow softly in defiance. “Still strong.”

Rabastan’s voice almost got caught on the wind “Bella-”

“If she came, Hermione would be dead.” The older brother replied.

Bellatrix’s presence was colder than any wind, and Hermione realized for all his affection, Rodolphus was married. She moved towards Rabastan to quell her inappropriate thoughts towards Rodolphus. He was classically beautiful, affectionate and protective, and incredibly fast with his wand. His power captivated her and she wished she hadn’t  _ felt _ anything towards her jailer.

She did.

And when Rodolphus stepped near her, keeping her between him and a concerned Rabastan, she knew she was a fool. Both of these men were her father’s age and Death Eaters, but Rabastan’s touch was gentle and Rodolphus’ presence was warm. 

“Can you tell if someone besides us is on the property?” Lucius asked “The color-”

“I know.” Rodolphus seemed to fret over her for a moment, fixing her cloak and casting a warming charm over them “They are family wards, but no, I do not feel the presence of another.”

They walked in silence, she was between the brothers, a tension that made it hard to breathe, knowing that whatever broke in the house was either gone or undetectable to the magic of the land it was built on. If she was missing memories from an assault, she would not know, but nothing ached besides chest, an anxiety that clawed at her insides as she recognized her feelings for her caretakers. 

Lucius began to light every sconce he could find, brightening the house to levels that almost hurt, illuminating how drab and dusty the manor had become, even though she had lived there for more than two months now. Nothing stirred even under the intense lighting, and the four of them stood in the dusty foyer, surrounded by hanging sheets and cobwebs.

“Nothing,” The blonde was disappointed, “Whoever was here has left.”

They took her upstairs to the room she had seen before when she spied on him during rainstorms. Rodolphus’ room was incredibly large for a bedroom, and multiple rooms had been opened around it and connected to it, rich oaks and mahogany floors, luxurious fabrics and rugs from the orient. The room smelled like cigars and whiskey, burning wood and parchment paper from the many books and notes scattered around the sitting area. A table had books topped with whiskey glasses, quills and inkpots. 

“The warding is strongest in this room.” Rodolphus explained as Lucius sat back down in the chair closest to the fire “Stay for tonight, I will redo the wardings on your room in the morning and have the elves search the premises.

She was a bundled in robes and blankets and sat down on the settee across from Lucius, picking up a badly done arithmancy equation and looking at the blonde who seemed to take offense that she thought  _ he _ had written them, and Rabastan plucked it from her hand, and began to question her in earnest about his calculations while the older brother sat next to her and poured himself another glass of firewhiskey.

Conversation waxed and waned, and the warmth of the fire and the warmth of the man next to her lulled her into dreams, she would wake when there was the clink of ice against glass, when Rodolphus spoke too loudly, or when he shifted, and it was only upon the third waking that she realized she was sleeping nearly on top of him, her head on his shoulder.

She didn’t move, panicking at falling asleep on him, but he shifted again, to accommodate her better, his fingers pushed her hair out of her eyes and she heard Rabastan speak.

“She is too trusting.”

“She has no reason not to trust us.” Rodolphus replied quietly “I am bound to her wellbeing.”

“She is not bound to you,” The other brother said “and you trust her.”

“Like calls to like.” His voice was soft, a kindness she never had heard from him in the past.

She struggled to pretend to sleep, guilt began to eat at her repeatedly but after awhile, the silence, the warmth of the room, the man she was laying on, and the hour pulled her back into dreams.

No nightmares bothered her.

* * *

  
She woke up alone in a large bed, morning light filtering through the windows, that same dim cloudy light that made getting out of bed a difficult task. There was the soft breathing of someone else in the room and she saw that Rabastan was asleep in the chair nearest the fire, his legs swung over one leg of the chair.

Rodolphus had gone, her face heated up at the memory of last night when she fell asleep against him. He was married. Why couldn’t she remember something so basic! She fell back in the bed, the sheets smelled like him. She covered her face with the plush comforter and stared up into the white.

Stupid girl. Stupid homewrecker.

She made a frustrated noise and she heard a clatter of books as the other occupant of the room struggled to wake up with her. There was a groan and then the pop of an elf entering the room followed by some whispered French and another book falling to the ground with a soft  _ thump _ as it hit the rug.

She covered her face with her hands, trying to will her flush to go away. At best he probably thought of her as a good prisoner, at worst a tolerable irritant in his home. He was married. She kept chanting it in her head as she remembered his fingers brushing her skin. He was married.

“Miss Mudblood comes for breakfast,” An elf said beside her after some time “The masters are waiting, Miss Mudblood is late.”

She pulled the blankets down to see Bessie looking at her impatiently, and she was alone. Hermione eventually slid out of bed, swaddling herself in Rodolphus’ robes and definitely not for the reason of being wrapped in his scent, in the last vestiges of  _ him _ , but because she was cold, and went down to the barely used dining room to see that they were not alone.

A glimpse of black hair and she knew it was her potions professor, she stepped in the room and then before anyone save for Rabastan had seen her she immediately stepped back out.

“Hermione, wait.” He called, and there was a clatter of silverware and the scrape of wood against wood as multiple chairs were pushed away from the table.

“I don’t have anything to say to The Order.” She said from the foyer, heading back towards her room “If they want to kill me, do it by daylight.”

“Miss Granger!” Her Professor’s voice overrode her anger and her body, used to years of being reprimanded by him, stopped immediately. “You will eat, then we will discuss.”

“We are not sure,” Rodolphus said, pulling out a seat for her next to him “how long we can continue to play by your rules if your rules include breaking into my house and trying to kill my ward so you can kill me off as well.”

Ward, yes of course, she was his responsibility. She repeated the word over and over in her head and stared at her empty plate.

Professor Snape sat down next to her “I am aware.”

“Lucius concurs and we want to do something.” Rodolphus began to fill her plate for her, pastries, fruit, and poured her tea. Setting it down in front of her after the plate was filled with the same foods he was currently eating and passing her the butter dish. All done with a kind of grace and confidence as if he had been filling her plate for the entirety of her life.

“Dissent?” Her Professor asked

Her head snapped up and she looked over at the master of the house in a question. Would he be taken away from her like she had been taken away from Harry and Ron for even posing the question.

“Nothing so drastic.” Rabastan assured

“As I see it we have two options,” Rodolphus said “We reset the wards to disallow for The Order, or if The Order decides to come here again, I reset the expectation that I will not kill them.”

“And we move Lucius’ boy.”

Rodolphus waved his butter knife in the air. “I need no permission to do something Hermione has already agreed to.”

“On a first name basis with her?” Her Professor’s tone held interest

“She is right here.” She replied annoyed, buttering her own pastries. “She also does not know what she agreed to.”

“It’s simple really,” Rabastan said “You will create a portkey.”

“That’s it?” She and her professor asked in unison.

“Who would guess it was Miss Hermione Granger freeing hostages?” Rodolphus’ smile was almost predatory. “Your headmaster is a fool.”   


“To try and ensnare Lucius…” Professor Snape’s voice died off “It’s madness, he would tear the world apart for Draco.”

“No need.” Rabastan quipped, buttering his own bread.

“You are sure that it was the Order that came for her?” Professor Snape studied her as if he was seeing her differently and she wished she was not wearing Rodolphus’ robes.

“I reset the wards my niece put down, and they retaliated. I can see no other reason.”

Quiet settled over the table, and she figured that the conversation was over and started to pick at her food, Professor Snape sipped from his tea next to her and started to stab at some eggs on his plate.

“Alastor?”

“Undoubtedly.” Rodolphus was beginning to pick through a pile of mail on the table.

“Ah,” Her Professor’s tone was airy and dismissive “Who am I to know the dangers of the work of an auror.”

Rodolphus muttered something in French which caused Rabastan to laugh and a shiver to go down her spine. She knew instinctively it was not fear.

“Eat.” He instructed her, tapping her plate with her fork “You had a long night.”

Now that business had concluded, the conversation turned lighter, mostly around some misstep Lucius had made recently, investing in some Italian company that promised an unnatural amount of returns for his money.

“Professor,” She asked as the plates were cleared away by eager elves “Auror Tonks and Professor Moody said that you would not return.”

“I am not here as an Order member.” Her Professor said abruptly “I am here as your teacher, and I have  _ not _ ever come to this manor as an Order member, surely you noticed.”

A smile played at her lips “And who knows this?”

“Anyone with two brain cells to rub together,” He drawled.

A bark of laughter from Rodolphus beside her “Which excludes your Order.”  
  


* * *

  
While Professor Snape spoke with Rodolphus in the sitting room, her eyes were drawn outside, remembering that Bellatrix was tailing her professor and that it was only a matter of time before she showed up on their front lawn again.

Rabastan was beside her on the small sofa, flipping idly through a book beside her. “Are you waiting for her?”

“I am.” She said, pulling her gaze away from the endless dead grass in front of the house “I prefer to see death when she comes for me.”  
  
“There is a reason she won’t arrive, and it’s because Severus is here.” Rabastan said “To challenge him would be suicide.”

“I remember Professor Snape being a good duelist.” Her eyes flitted back to a window, expecting the spectre that haunted her nightmares to somehow appear like a horror film: pressed up against the window and waiting to kill her.

“When the choice is life or death, you become proficient quickly.”

Her eyes moved back towards her potion’s professor. “I don’t want to die.”

The first time she saw the most feared professor in Hogwarts smile, it was on a Tuesday afternoon in late November, the sun was cutting across dusty floorboards, and Rodolphus was looking at her with that kind of appreciation that turned her insides to jelly.

The corners of his mouth upturned, a smile reserved for only the most chosen of his house. Professor Snape caught her hidden meaning easily. His voice was like velvet, and she knew that she had made a deal to turn her back on the Order. “Let’s hope you become proficient quickly.”

She wasn’t an idiot, she thought as the four of them ventured into the back yard. She knew several things about disarming, and some hexes that she had looked up to teach the DA. There was snow on the ground, the grass, dead but still wet, crunched beneath her trainers. The wind came and went, blowing in with each wave crashing against the distant shore.

“Come, Miss Granger, raise your wand.” Professor Snape said, pacing away from her, some of his words lost to the wind, but not all.

She did as she was asked. Her hand raising her wand up in and she suddenly felt a swell of energy from behind her, that static that came from a very agitated Rabastan, and with this brush of magic against her she realized she had made a very serious error.

Professor Snape was not eager to teach her, but eager to best her. He turned and with a whistling crack the first spell singed past her hair, hitting the side of the house, and the wards. She was stupid in more ways than one, she walked into that trap

She cast  _ Expellarmius _ and it was dodged, followed by almost every curse she could come up with out of her limited repertoire, and in return, in a blinding flash of white, a stinging curse caught her leg and she stumbled, finally casting one in a counter that landed rather unexpectedly. A surge of adrenaline and joy overcame the radiating pain in her shin and she moved to do another disarming curse, but it was blocked by her Professor that moved near her, his body had no unnecessary movement, he was like water.

He came for her, those fingers outstretched to grab her hand and she pulled backwards, tripping over her own feet and casting another tripping jinx on him, her wand whipped through the air, and it missed.

Professor Snape advanced on her again. “Know your body.” Rodolphus said beside her, righting her “A duel is a dance.”

His hands righted her center of gravity, caressing the small of her waist, and they travelled along the length of her arm. “Move with him, not away from him.”

She didn’t even think to process the information, or seek it for any hidden messages or missives from a Death Eater, his touch burned into her skin, and she advanced on her professor who was circling her as if a lion to his prey. “Better, don’t stumble.” Rodolphus was beside her, his steps matching hers, “Try to disarm him, and then  _ take his wand _ .”

A swish and a flick “ _ Expelliarmus _ .” She breathed, wondering how this lesson had become so seductive.

Then she suddenly understood. The way they were moving, she was in perfect synchrony with her Professor, when he went to dodge the disarming hex, his wand hand moved towards her other hand and she could reach up and grab the wand.

Two hands wrapped around the single wand, the curse had not landed, but it worked. She looked up at her potion’s professor, who had a glitter of approval in his dark eyes. “Excellent, now without your babysitter.”

This happened a few more times, until she could almost mimic his moves and the stinging curses started to miss as she anticipated them before he moved his wand to cast them. After she managed to dodge one for the third time without tripping, her duelling partner changed, Rodolphus took Professor Snape’s place.

She knew no deadlier duelist than him. Professor Snape was good, in the way that proficiency beyond her years was, but Rodolphus breathed duelling, his darkness and fluidity was in the way he walked. He exuded power and it washed over her, bringing her towards him.

Rodolphus did not attempt to curse her the way her Professor did, he corrected her, each of his touches was done to make her move in the same way he did, her shoulder went back, her chin went up, her legs went wider. He kept correcting until there was no difference in how they circled each other in the duel, simply mirrors of one another. Her entire body was hot, her entire  _ being _ was with him.

“Disarm me.” His voice was like honey. She barely caught it and she moved her hand, almost an imperceptible amount.

She cast the curse and he dodged, but she found that even as he dodged, she could anticipate where he would dodge to, and again. She kept casting, and then finally, like aiming to catch a fly she managed to land a stinging hex, and finally, he returned a curse, that pale green stream of light from the killing curse, and she moved not away from it, but towards him, fear driving her forward and it sizzled past her as she cast again and his wand flew to her, humming with his magic.

Flustered with the duel, his touches, and the panic of missing the killing curse she switched so both wands were in her hand and began to push him backwards. “You could have killed me!”

She pushed him again and he looked shocked “Prick!” He stumbled backwards and she kept advancing “What if I hadn’t dodged?”

Her hand was flat against his chest as she pushed him again and again until he caught her wrist, holding her still. “You dodged, didn’t you?”

She glared up towards him and yanked her hand away, her face red, and she hoped that he thought it was from the cold. She threw his wand on the ground and yanked her hand away from him, pushing past him and slipping back inside the kitchens.

She was an idiot.

* * *

  
Rabastan was sitting with her, quietly observing while he read as she attempted to create a wand, it was nearing dinner, and she refused the elf summons twice. “Let him come to you.” The younger brother said when she refused the elf the second time.

The two of them were in the almost dark sitting area of the cavern library, she was measuring out a piece of Dragon’s Heartstring that was probably older than her that she had scrounged for in an ancient storage closet for potion’s ingredients. She was measuring it against a paragraph in the book about safety spells before cutting it to length.

“I apologize.”

They both looked up from their books to see Rodolphus standing in the doorway, clearly exasperated that he was at dinner alone.

“You could have killed me.” She said measuring the dragon heartstring against the text again.

“It wasn’t a killing curse.” He said and flopped himself down across from her, and she heard Rabastan close the book behind her “I figured out how he bent the light to make a stinging hex green. If someone shoots the curse at you, I want you to dodge it not to freeze.”

“I don’t want to die.” She said and casting a silent  _ leviosa _ the heartstring floated next to the twig she had made into a mock wand. She cleared her throat, voicing what she  _ really _ meant. Pulled towards honesty. “I didn’t want  _ you _ to kill me.”

The master of the house got down on the floor beside her and there was a clatter as the wand and the heartstring fell to the floor, Rodolphus pulled her towards him, his lips inches from her ear “I will  _ never _ harm you, Hermione.”

The intensity of this statement scared her, and yet, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of wood and whiskey. It permeated his robes. Could she be allowed to take this from a married man? Maybe just this once, maybe just with his own brother as witness, maybe beneath the world, sequestered away in a library that was forgotten. His arm tightened around her, his fingers digging into her hair and she closed her eyes.

This moment, listening to the  _ ding _ of the star gauge in the distance, the breathing of the three of them, the warmth of his body against hers, would keep her sane through the darker portions of her imprisonment at Le Tourmont. 

“Dinner?” He asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded in his robes, afraid of showing her face, knowing that if he took one look at her that he would know truly how foolish she was. How she bathed in his cinnamon scented affections and vied for his attention.

Rabastan helped her to a standing and the three of them left for dinner, his touch was like an outlet, causing her nerve endings to ache, and as she got to standing, she heard the same call of the obsidian door. Rabastan’s eyes flicked towards it and she realized that she wasn’t the only one who understood the siren’s call of the darkness.

“You heard it?” She said as they left the library.

“Every day, like an owl, it has a message for me, and it is one that I won’t answer.”  
  
“What is the message?” She asked and felt Rabastan’s touch on her lower back, steering her back up towards the house.

“I do not want to know it, not yet.”

Dinner was quiet, there was not much to be said. Professor Snape apparently had left in the afternoon, promising to be back even though he had promised the Order the opposite. Rodolphus, in his strange, and usual manner, filled her plate for her, picking out foods that he himself found interesting.

Rabastan gave her a raised eyebrow when his older brother set down her plate in front of her before he began to pick out food for himself. “Will your absence be missed?” She asked as she began to pick apart duck.

“I am waiting.” Rodolphus said, filling up her glass with wine, and then his brother’s and then his own. “For another to visit here tonight.”

“Who?”

“Your nighttime visitor.” Rabastan supplied “Whoever removed your wards will return.”

“Would they be so stupid?”  
  
Rabastan let out a puff of air “We have known Dumbledore’s friends for only a short time, but if there is one thing I have learned, they cannot leave you alone.”

Hermione bit into a spear of asparagus and stared into the flame of a sconce. “If they wanted me, why did they put me all the way out here on this mission?”

“Is there a mission?” Rabastan asked.

“The longer I am here, the less I understand.” She admitted.

No one visited that night.   
  
Rodolphus was called away a few days later. His wards in place, her memories of him, in place as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rodolphus has that kind of love that is dangerous to touch, which makes it fun to write about.


	9. Chapter 9

She was lying on a couch, trying to parse a book that was as dry as the subject matter, another ancient LeStrange ledger. Rabastan was sitting on the floor in front of her, writing in the latest volume of the LeStrange family history. She was nearly asleep, the tiredness that came after lunch, and the relaxation that came with the ease of Rabastan’s presence.

“Someone is here.” He said, marking down something “I can feel them, can you?”

She could not, only the fact that someone had arrived on the property had agitated his magical signature. She rolled over to see Bessie staring at her, the elf’s ears were flat. “Visitors for Miss Mudblood.”

“Who?” He asked.

“Old man, two old men.”

Rabastan narrowed his eyes and stood up, walking toward the windows of the upper floor. “That auror again, the one that hurt you.”

“And?” She said, not bothering to move.

“Another.”

“Miss Mudblood comes to greet them.” Bessie insisted

She did as she was asked, she was wearing an odd combination of the LeStrange family robes, part of her Hogwarts uniform and a Weasley sweater. Her hair pulled up and away from her face as she opened the doors to let in a windblown Auror Moody and Professor Lupin.

When Moody pushed past her she stepped aside to let him in, she didn’t want any part of him touching any part of her.

“Miss Granger,” Professor Lupin’s voice was kind and full of warmth, but she did not want this warmth, it was false, just like everything the Order had to offer.

“Hello professors, how can I help you?”

“Doing our  _ rounds _ .” Moody barked and Hermione almost flinched, her hand on her wand “Where’s the rot that owns this place?”

“Mister LeStrange is out.” She said and stepped away from them and towards her sitting room, her eyes flicking up to the balcony on the second floor that overlooked the foyer and wondered if Rabastan was hiding in the shadows, watching over her. She hoped so.

“Someone else is here.” Moody said whipping out his wand, and casting a lumos, his magical eye whirling around.

“Three elves serve this manor.” She said and began to walk away from them. Dread was pooling in her stomach. There was something sinister about this visit and she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore it further.

“Tonks couldn’t make it,” Professor Lupin explained behind her “So I offered to come in her stead.”

“It doesn’t matter to me.” She said, sitting down and waving to Alice to  _ go _ and take the tea set with her. If there was no tea, this was going to be a short visit. 

The other two men sat down and Moody kept searching the room for another, but none came. She stared at them owlishly, trying her best to appear innocent before their questions, and Professor Lupin attempted small talk.

“I have been told that you cannot speak with anyone but Dumbledore about your mission.” He offered

It had been almost three months, if there was a mission, it was not urgent. She decided not to say anything. “I have not spoken with him.”

“We can pass any information you may have along to him.” Professor Lupin offered and she looked out the window wondering when this would be over.

“How is Harry?” She asked.

“Terrible student, him and Ron both. Is there any tea?”

Anger welled up inside of her and she wanted to explode. Ron was not separated from Harry, only _her_. Only the female third of the Golden Trio was punished for all of their crimes. She was the only one that was wrenched away from England, even Luna was allowed to stay on the continent within the Malfoy estate.  
  
“No tea.” She said “I can boil some water.”

“Then what are the elves for, girl?” Moody snapped, obviously perturbed by something she couldn’t even see or hear.

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of more ways to just get them to  _ leave _ . Moody seemed unstable, an anger simmering beneath the surface. His eye kept swirling around, darting and clicking as it looked around the study.

“I do not use the elves. They are not for me, they are for the family.” She said, a lie, a good lie, she hoped.

“Are you being treated well?” Professor Lupin asked.

“Yes.”

“You are not hurt?” 

“I’m fine.”

“Is your mission progressing?”

A pause, before she answered “I cannot say.”

How Slytherin of her, she thought afterwards as Professor Lupin looked cowed at her response. His eyes darted towards Moody before back to her, unsure of how to proceed.

“The wards that Nymphadora put up. Let’s see them.” Moody said gruffly getting up “Where’s your room at?”

Panic seeped in, realizing that if they checked they would know the wards were not cast by the auror, but by Lucius and Rodolphus days after they were torn away by the very auror. She never slept in the room since the break in. Rabastan preferred her upstairs near him for protection. She knew that Moody knew the wards were gone. This was some kind of trap mechanized by the auror, and she hoped that whatever it was, she would not fall for it.

Her shoes clicked off the wood as they walked a few doors down from the sitting room and faced the portrait of Leta LeStrange. The three of them stood there, Moody’s breath was loud and ragged. 

Two clicks of his magical eye and Moody turned on her almost immediately and she stepped backwards into the painting, bumping her head against the bottom of the frame. “This is not Nymphadora’s work.”

“No.” She drew out the word. “I removed her wards and set up my own.” Another lie.

A wand was at her throat before she could move away from it, her own hand around her wand within the voluminous robes she wore. She could not duel Moody, but she could get away if we had to.

She heard Professor Lupin beside her make a strangled noise “Alastor! Do not draw a wand on a child!” Despite this he made no move to stop the auror.

“This is dark magic, this is nothing  _ you _ should be doing, or did you forget why you were here?” Mood grabbed her left arm and she tensed afraid of what he was planning, not willing to move. “Did you change your loyalties, little girl?”

His fingers were so tight around her wrist she knew there would bruises, but she refused to let him see the black marks from Rabastan that were hidden underneath her sleeve.

There was a clatter further down the hallway and she pulled away from him while they both turned. She looked up to see the portrait was empty and walked back towards the foyer with as much speed as she could muster without outright running away.

The three elves were lined up near the door, dressed neatly, all waiting for someone. There was only one reason they would line up this way. She knew that she was no longer alone and that if they were caught by the other person in the house, they would not be able to leave. She flung the front door open, stepping back outside onto the stairs.

“Miss Granger,” Professor Lupin said following her out, his fingers grasping on her robes. “We just want to check. I know how  _ seductive _ the dark arts can be.”

“I suggest you leave.” She said quietly, pain radiating from her wrist, she cradled it against her. “Before you are found.”

“By who?” Her Professor reached for her left arm.

A shadow darkened the main doors of the house, wild curly hair, furious eyes, and sleek black robes. The elves only lined up in the foyer for the master of the house. “By me.”

“Mister LeStrange,” Professor Lupin said, stepping back from Hermione “She said you were out.”

“Are you alone?” He asked, walking down the stairs to the drive where the two of them stood. 

“Alastor Moody is here.” Professor Lupin said moving towards Hermione, but she moved towards Rodolphus. She did not trust the Order to protect her from themselves.

“As agreeable as ever.” She muttered, flexing her aching wrist.

“Is there something you need to discuss with her?” He asked, putting his hand at the small of her back “Or is this about me?”

“Just our usual Sunday check in.” Professor Lupin hedged, his eyes not towards them, but the ground.

Now that Rodolphus was here she was safe. She relaxed into his touch, edging towards him.

“Have they checked in with you?” He asked her.

“They have.”

“Your business is concluded. Leave.” Rodolphus, fury not gone, but abated turned towards her “Come, it’s cold out here.”

“We need to reset the wards on her room.” Professor Lupin said, finding some courage.

“Reset them.” Rodolphus said leading her up to the room “As many times as you need.” He leaned closer to her, “It is a trifle to break them.”

She stifled a laugh and turned back to her old defense professor “Are you coming, Professor?”  
  


* * *

  
Remus Lupin was kind, she tried to remind herself that he was kind and capable, and a good man. Her two former defense professors began the sticky task of dismantling wards with magic that she knew was complicated by the very nature of making things more complicated  _ for _ them. 

Rodolphus leaned down close to her. “Are you hurt?”

“I need some bruise salve.” She pulled up her sleeve slightly, and there were distinct fingerprint bruises blossoming on her skin.

“Which?” He asked.  
  
“Professor Sna-”  
  
“Which one did this to you?”

Her eyes went to Moody but she did not speak.

“Go upstairs, I’ll take care of this here.” He paused, staying close to her, like he had not completed a sentence, and she did not move immediately, waiting for something from him. She did not know what she wanted.

“Fucking her?” Moody’s voice asked from behind her.

“ _ Excuse _ me?” She asked shrilly, her whole body tense.

“Alastor! I can see why Dumbledore wasn’t sending you here alone anymore.” Remus sounded shocked.

Rodolphus palmed his wand, looking up from her and to the occupants of the room. “Go on, Moody, tell us all your sick fantasies you have about school girls.”

His mouth thinned in a line, but he did not respond.

“You’re not going to talk about me like that while I am  _ present _ .” She demanded hotly, looking at Professor Lupin who was now interested in a floral pattern on her bedspread. “You will leave.”

“Don’t order  _ me _ around, child.”

“If you are not out of my house within three minutes, I will kill you both.” Rodolphus said beside her.

“And we’ll kill your brother.” Moody shot back. “We can pull him at any time, or did you think we didn’t know he was holed up in that manor in Essex?”

She withdrew her wand and looked at it briefly, “Go.” She demanded. “Go if you value your lives.”

“Hermione?” Remus voice lost some of its calm, gaining some lackluster courage. “Is he threatening you?”

“Go on,” Rodolphus assured her, his voice like chocolate “No need to waste our time here.” 

She looked over at her kindly old werewolf professor in disdain. If he had more courage she wouldn't be in this situation, and he would have said something more when Moody made his disgusting accusations. Cowardly. “Good afternoon.”  
  


* * *

  
Rabastan tended to her while Rodolphus paced the length of his own sitting room. “They believe something is in that room.”

“Nothing is in that room.” Rabastan said, inspecting her skin to make sure that he was thorough in covering the area with the slimy salve. He cupped her wrist with both hands, the warmth counteracting the cold of the paste. She hissed at the contact and looked away. “She’s not even in the room anymore.”

“If the portrait hadn’t warned me that they had arrived-”

“Leta?”

“Yes, I have her keep an eye on things while I’m abroad.”

“Snitching portrait.”

Rabastan removed his hands from hers and she saw the bruises had gone. “Better?”

She wished he hadn’t removed his hands, but didn’t voice that thought out loud. “Of course.”

“They’ll be back tonight.” Rodolphus warned at the window “They want whatever is in that room, and that’s why they came today when they knew I was on some fool’s errand for their fool Order.”

“So what will we do?”

“Wait.”

It was past two in the morning, she had fallen asleep on Rabastan who was also sleeping when she heard it. At first she presumed it was her nightmares, shifting to hide her face from the dying firelight, but there was the sound of a door shutting with a  _ snick _ and she knew it was not a dream anymore.

Rabastan tightened his grip around her. “Awake?”

She inhaled his scent, cinnamon and parchment. She tensed and realized she was curled up into his chest, a book pressed between them. How did  _ this _ happen? Her face was hot. “Awake.” She muttered, wishing she wasn’t.

“Restless sleeper.” He chided her and stretched, moving her off of him and moving towards the windows, covered in heavy velvet curtains, moving them aside to show a blinding lightness outside. “Someone is attacking the wards.”

“Who?” She asked, shuffling over to the window to see.

Rabastan turned to her, a smile playing at his lips “Do you want to meet them?”

“Now?”

“In a moment.”

The blinding light suddenly went out, as if a light switch was flicked, and the fire near them roared to life as the magic dissipated. The flames licked up the side of the hearth and she watched the solitary figure darted up the lawn, unaware that they were being watched.

“Did the wards falter?” She asked Rabastan who was standing next to her.

“No, but he doesn’t know that, does he?”

She bristled, wondering who was stupid enough to fall for it, and as the figure came closer to the windows she knew only one person was foolish enough to launch a frontal assault on the home of a Death Eater.

The door opened behind them to see a half dressed Rodolphus, shirtless and loosely wearing a black set of robes, silk pajama pants, his hair sticking up in forty different directions. He was out of breath. His eyes were alight “Caught, come, my Hermione.”

He offered his hand and suddenly, the last of her sleep was shaken off at the use of his possessive. She walked away from the window and followed the master of the house down the hall just in time to see the top of the door open and shut from the balcony overlooking the foyer.

The house was dark, and Rodolphus pulled her closer to the edge, and the three of them peered down from the top. Who was breaking into the house at this hour? The intruder was hooded, and she shrunk back from the edge, afraid she would be seen.

Rodolphus slipped past her, rushing down the stairs, and the room lit red before a scream rang out. A woman’s scream. Hermione lit a lumos to see what had happened only to see the last vestiges of the red glow of  _ Crucio _ , Nymphadora Tonks writhing on the ground before him, sobbing and curling up into a ball. “What the  _ fuck _ ?” Rodolphus could be heard asking not her, but himself “You?”

Hermione was frozen, she had never seen an unforgivable in person. Rabastan kept near her, afraid of her reaction. Why was Tonks breaking into the house at night? What was The Order really doing with this house? Why wouldn’t Rodolphus disarm her first?

They’re dark wizards, Hermione. She cursed herself and moved away from the younger brother. “Hermione.” He placated, but she didn’t want to hear it.

She rushed down to save Tonks from harm, her fear blindsiding her as she withdrew her wand, intent on cursing Rodolphus where he stood. He was the enemy! He tried to keep her away from the truth about him, and the truth was that he was a married, evil, criminal. Death Eater. Death Eater.

She hit the landing and immediately was pulled away from Rodolphus, a hand coming over her mouth. “You’re safe.” A voice said and she saw both of the brothers before her.

It didn't feel safe. She let out a strangled cry and Rodolphus turned to see her get dragged backwards out the door. A hand was fumbling at her waist and she began to panic. Who had her? Was he going to rape her? She struggled to pull away but the hand at her mouth grabbed a fist full of her hair instead, snapping her head backwards so all she could see was the sky.

“Stop!” The voice yelled so loudly her ears rang. “Stop! She is going back to England!”

The fingers on her hair tightened and she thought her scalp was going to be separated from her skull, her neck hurt, and the arm at her waist had her hands pinned to her side. 

“You’re hurting me!” She screamed and kicked whatever was behind her, a miss, another miss and then contact, her bare feet meeting a shin and there was an angry hiss of pain from her captor. “I’ll kill you!” 

“I am here to take you back home, Hermione.”

She kicked him again, trying to get him to let go of some  _ part _ of her. Angry tears welling up as she realized that even with her one afternoon of dueling lessons she was completely vulnerable and useless. “Friend or enemy, it doesn’t matter! Let go of me!”

“We checked the house in Essex, LeStrange, your brother isn’t there!” That was a voice she knew, Moody.

Whoever was holding her, yanked harder on her hair after her last kick and she made a whine in pain. “Fuck you.” She spat “Let go of me.”

“I’m just following orders, calm down.” The voice said in her ear, it smelled like potatoes and pot roast. She wanted to gag.

A streak of white light and she was suddenly yanked backwards, a yelp as she and her captor fell to the ground together and she scrambled away from whoever held her, finally holding her wand out, her body shivering with adrenaline.

A shock of red hair against the brown frozen grass. The moon highlighting the pale face of Percy Weasley, his black cloak shimmering with his own blood and he grabbed his arm to stem the bleeding.

Furious and afraid Hermione skittered back away from him. “Leave! Leave or I won’t be responsible for your death!”

Percy’s hands were covered in his blood, but he stood up. “I know you are under some kind of spell, you have to be detained for your safety.”

She could see the reflections of the spells in his beady eyes as a wandfight played out behind her. “Who said?”  
  
“We all know how he speaks of you, Hermione, we have to take you away from the LeStrange estate. You might be imperiused.” One hand had his wand but he approached her cautiously, his hands out as if he was trying to capture a wild deer.

Her brows knitted together. Could she be under a spell? No. She was angry at Rodolphus for using a cruciatus, if she was imperiused then she couldn’t disagree with him. “No. It’s not true.” She muttered, affirming herself.

“You’re in danger here, Hermione.” He cooed and she shuddered. Pity.

“The only person who is in danger here is you, Percy.” She spat.

“I’m trained by the Ministry.”

A shadow came behind Percy and she looked up to see long black hair and glittering black eyes. A demon.

“I’ve been trained to take down the Ministry.” The shadow hissed and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his hair back, there was the glint of a knife.

“Rabastan.” She breathed, warning him.  
  
Rabastan was too far gone, the knife caught the moonlight as she watched him lift it to Percy’s throat. Would he kill him? Would she watch a Weasley die on the lawn of Le Tourmont? She couldn't breathe for fear of his life or the consequences of Rabastan taking a life she could not be sure. “How does it feel?” He yanked on Percy’s short hair and watched him arch up into a bow to relieve the pressure on his scalp “You shouldn’t have touched her.”

“Death Eater, the Ministry will have a field day.” Percy spat.

“Apologize to her,” Rabastan’s voice was deadly. “Say it before I cut you up into pieces and mail you back to your father wrapped in parchment paper.”

The knife began to cut underneath his Adam’s apple. Percy’s bravado left as quickly as it came. “I am sorry!” He cried as the knife dug into his skin “I was just following orders, believe me!”

“Rabastan, that’s enough!” Hermione shouted, her head throbbing. She brought her hand to the back of her head, touching it tenderly. Noise hurt. Suddenly, s he was caught in the leg by another spell that took her out and Rabastan immediately let go of the Weasley and caught her before she fell.  
  
“Get out of the way girl! Think you can hide a felon from us, LeStrange?” It was Moody.

She was gathered quickly in Rabastan’s embrace, his whole body hunched over her, shielded from another volley of spells as Percy scrambled away. The burning started to crawl up her leg to her hip and she bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. “Oh god, oh god I am on fire.” She said in disbelief, clawing at her own skin, trying to see what was eating at her but there was nothing. “Please!”

The curse was burrowing into her skin, like thousands of fire ants making its way to the bone. She kept pawing at her skin, trying to remove whatever was on it but there was nothing. The moonlight shone on clear skin underneath her Hogwarts plaid.

“Cursed.” Rabastan’s voice was panicked and furious, he held her hands by the wrist in one of his, hunching over her, trying to see what was wrong with the other, running his hands over pure white skin. “What is wrong?”

“I’m on fire!” She begged, not sure what else to say. How could he not see? How could no one see the kind of pain she was in?

“Hermione, trust me, trust me and give me your wand.” Rabastan asked so quickly it came out all in one breath.

Death Eater! Death Eater! She handed it to him and tried to curl up in the same way she saw Tonks on the floor of her foyer earlier, protecting herself. She felt a kiss against her temple and she was hoisted upright. He handed her a knife, it was carved from bone. “Thank you, let me take care of you. A moment.”

To watch a LeStrange duel was probably the rarest sight in all of Europe, she hugged herself, and then fell over, shivering, holding the knife out as a weapon against anyone who would try to grab her again. Rabastan approached Tonks like a Dementor, almost floating, a spell in his very movements. He attacked with such fury that she wasn’t sure that anything on earth could stop him. His robes barely could mimick his quick strikes, it was a display of prowess that she would never expect from quiet, gentle Rabastan.

A hand grabbed her arm that was already buzzing in pain and she turned to see a bloodied Percy Weasley “Come.”  
  
A sob caught in her throat. The fire was clawing its way into her chest, it made her skin ache, and she wished she could tear it off, but she knew it was madness. The pain was driving her insane. "Leave, before Rabastan comes back.” A threat diminished by her tone. Her teeth were chattering, each word came out in almost a stutter.

“Yes, we’ll go before he can notice. He’s dangerous.” His grip solidified on her arm and his touch seared into her very soul like white hot lightning and she took the knife into her other hand and drove it into his arm until the hilt met skin, the point of the knife coming out the other side of his arm and Percy howled in pain.

“Don’t touch me!” She scurried back away from the very bloody and very furious Weasley who was screaming obscenities as he tried to pull the knife from his skin.

There was another cry of pain behind her and she whipped around to see Rodolphus finally besting Moody, tripping him and slicing him open, his beaten brown trench coat split open to reveal blood. It stained the grass.

The whole lawn glowed green. The killing curse, she noticed, was no spell, but an aura, it was a brief flicker of an eerie green sun and it went out. Rodolphus, who was some twelve feet away from her was covered in blood and madness, he whipped his wand towards Percy who was advancing on her, vengeance in his eyes. “Take another step towards her.” He urged. “Take another step towards her and see what happens.”

The fire was lapping at her throat and it hurt to swallow. 

“She is The Order’s.”

“She is ours!” Rodolphus barked, “Take the female Auror and take your  _ life _ as a warning. Come to this estate and try to take what is ours and leave with  _ nothing _ .”

Percy looked at her like he had never seen her before and her vision was beginning to tunnel. He took another step towards her and a curse whizzed past him.

“I don’t miss.” Rabastan’s voice was close behind her, she could feel his unstable magic, crackling through the air, it made her teeth hurt. “You’re the messenger,  _ go _ .”

Before Percy left Rodolphus fell in front of her to his knees, her whole vision consumed in his darkness, he was covered in blood, it stuck to his hair, it glistened against his skin in the starlight. “Come, my Hermione.”

She fell into him. The devil, she thought, the devil himself hugged her gently, smoothing down her hair and picking her up. The devil smelled like blood, and cinnamon, and firewood. She keened in pain, all touch felt like it would be her last. The devil said her name so sweetly, with such tenderness, she closed her eyes and cried.

The devil did not ask for her to be strong, or chastise her for getting caught in the duel. The devil spoke to her in French, lulling her into a painful haze between this world and the next. He walked slowly into his manor, laying her down on his bed and she heard a scuttle of paper.

“Call Lucius,” The devil said, wiping the tears from her face with his thumb “Call him now, it’s urgent. I know this curse.”

“Will she be okay?” The devil’s brother asked. A lesser demon in his court.

“Of course.” The devil stroked her hair, his fingers brushing back painful curls. “Hurry, Rab.”

The devil she knew, and she was his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember at the beginning of this month where I was like "haha, this will be done by Oct 31". I lied. I am breezing past 50k words written today.
> 
> I worry that I am always very cliched in my writing, I really like to torture my main female character for growth, and this is the beginning of a long and painful growth arc.
> 
> Sorry to ppl who like the Order, you should not be here if you like them.


	10. Chapter 10

She woke up in a panic, sitting upright in the bed in the morning, daylight streaming in through the windows, snow piling gently on the windowsill. 

Her body no longer ached, the pain was memory and she looked down at her skin, wishing for some proof that she was burned alive, but found none. There was a pop and she looked up at the fire quietly burning near the bed. No one was in the room with her. The house was silent.

She saw a water basin full of ice near her bed and she could see a few chairs had been moved around Rodolphus’ bed to watch her. They must have cured her sometime during the night. Her head hurt from where Percy had tried to pull all her hair out the night before, her scalp was raw to the touch. She heard voices from down the hall, the door to her bedroom was ajar.

What had happened last night? Tonks was cursed, and then Percy tried to kidnap her, Moody cursed her, and then he was killed. Moody’s corpse made her stomach queasy. Moody had to have gone mad to curse her in front of Rodolphus. There was no way he would have let him harm her. That sentence bore some more inspection than she thought. Moody had clearly aimed for her with that curse, but why was she so sure of the LeStrange brother’s protection towards her?

“ _ She is ours _ .” It rang in her head over and over.

Would things be different now? To think someone as deadly as Rodolphus and Rabastan cared for her. It made her toes curl. She shook her head, her hair hurt. Rodolphus was married and Rabastan was…

Her face flushed. Maybe Rabastan.

Laughter cut through her thoughts and she stepped out into the hallway to her a few men chatting in French further down in the foyer. She padded down the hall in her wrinkled outfit from the day before: robes, a skirt, and a sweater, to see from above Lucius, Rabastan, and Rodolphus speaking with two others that seemed to be government officials of some type.

Police? Of course, there was a murder here the night before. Rabastan seemed to have felt her eyes because he turned to look at her “Ah! Elle est ici! Maintenant, monsieurs!"

She was panicking. Would they arrest her? Would they arrest him? They were only defending her from the crazed auror. There was no way that it wasn’t in some kind of self defense. Could she even communicate enough in French to prevent them from being arrested.

She walked down the stairway slowly, it felt as if her legs no longer worked, turned to gelatin with no bones to speak of, due to fear or illness she wasn’t sure. Rabastan extended his hand towards her and brought her over between him and Rodolphus, keeping her close to the two of them. She basked in their closeness, feeling some kind of protection by the two towering French men.

The two other men were indeed some kind of aurory, their robes bore some kind of sigil, they were currently laughing at something Lucius, who looked very much  _ Lucius Malfoy _ and very little like a desperate patriarch locked in an unwinnable war, said. The blonde gestured towards her and said something so rapidly in French she only caught her name twice and the two men looked at her fondly afterwards.

“Bonjour,” She offered and in a clear tone “Je m’appelle Hermione.”

The two men were sufficiently impressed, and the shorter of the two stuck out his hand “Hello Mademoiselle Hermione, I am Etienne, and this is Pierre, we are from the Aurory here in France. We received notice that a killing curse was cast last night.”

She was struck by their English and her cheeks flushed at showing her terrible French. Rodolphus put his hand on her back and she looked at him, hoping that he could convey all the answers she needed by look alone. Rodolphus did not seem anxious, but he nodded briefly towards her. It was imperceptible but she knew what it meant. Everything was alright. Everything was under control.

“We’ve reviewed the memories and we can only conclude it was defense. You were cursed and there were no other options left to take for Master LeStrange to save your life.” Pierre, a short, stout man who obviously loved all the cheese France had to offer “The English love to use this coast as a playground. This is not the first time we have had to investigate the Ministry of Magic in Belle-Dunne.”

“Oh!” She was shocked. No trial, no jail time, nothing. A murder cost them time and a quick visit from two men that seemed like they were old friends with Lucius and Rodolphus. “Thank you.”

“Are you feeling better?” Lucius asked. "To use such a curse in this day and age, it is more than illegal." He tsked and the French auror's nodded in agreement, their expression grave.

Her hand went to the back of her head where it was tender “Better than last night.”

“Let’s take a look at that.” Rabastan said “I am surprised he didn’t rip half of your hair out.”

“Well, gentlemen, and Miss Hermione. We have quite a bit of paperwork to fill out. It’s still early, enjoy your breakfast.” Etienne said and Rodolphus walked with them to the door while Rabastan and Lucius shared a look.

The door shut and she looked at Lucius “Did you imperius them?”

“No need to imperius anyone when the law is on your side.” He drawled, annoyed “I saved your life, and the first words are an accusation.”

She felt sheepish “Thank you for removing the curse.”

Lucius had a rich laugh “You’ll pay me back.”

When she sat down for breakfast, Rabastan was moving her very tender hair around from where Percy had pulled it, searching for any hidden damage. The three men stood behind her while she stared at an impressive plate of baked goods.

“Should have killed that shit too.” Rabastan said and there was a cooling spell and the ache went away “Better?”

“Stop fussing.” She said, her face red. “I’m hungry.”

Rodolphus, as was his wont, grabbed her plate and began to fill it for her first. It was clear, now that sunlight streamed in through the windows that the only one who had slept was her. His hair was pulled back haphazardly, and his eyes were half lidded in exhaustion. 

Rabastan was stirring his coffee idly with a finger, and looked up under her scrutiny. “Your wand is at your bedside.” He said before turning his gaze back to his coffee that seemed to be wholly unappealing to him.

“I don’t care.” She yawned “You needed it, I knew you’d return it.”

Lucius stabbed at a sausage, pureblood airs gone as he had his elbow on the table, his hair flung over one shoulder. “Two hours of questioning, for what? Self defense. The man was mad, cursed her with her back turned, broke into your house at two in the bloody morning. As if we hadn’t been up all night.”

So it wasn’t as easy as a quick chat in the foyer. It just happened while she was sleeping. “I can open a guest suite if you’d like to rest before you apparate back to England.”

“No,” Lucius said and looked out the window at the blinding white blanket of snow “Narcissa cannot be left alone in that house. It’s too dangerous for her. Once we get Draco moved, I will move her as well.”

“I cannot bother with apparition until after I rest.” Rodolphus said “The curse takes too much from you.”

“Oh to quit England,” Lucius sighed and continued to stab at another sausage. “Once Draco is gone, I will be too. You would be wise to do the same.”

“I’m working on it.” Rodolphus looked at her as he spoke.

She looked away. Afraid of her growing attraction towards him, afraid of what she would do if she looked too long at him over breakfast. Every action just seemed to draw her closer and closer. She stared at her plate.

She wanted to be consumed by him.

“The Order will come.” She said, jabbing at her quiche with a fork, angry with herself and her thoughts. “I stabbed Percy, I drove that knife through his arm just because he touched me.”

“If touching constitutes kidnapping, I’ve been kidnapped a few times this morning.” Rabastan replied “He didn’t have to be rough with you, he chose to.”

“I was afraid, I didn’t know-” She protested.

“ _ He _ knew. He knew what he was doing.” Rodolphus interrupted “You didn’t know, but he did.”

That was a hard statement to swallow. She also knew this at some level that Percy Weasley had grabbed her and roughed her up because there was no one there to tell him to stop. If Rabastan hadn’t caught them, she wasn’t sure what  _ more _ he would have done. The smell of his breath, the feel of his arm pinning her in place. She shuddered.

“What are they looking for?” Lucius asked her “They keep coming here for something, and you didn’t find it fast enough.”

“They...they gave me that kids book, the Beetle and the Bard, and I read it. There was nothing other than that. I thought it was an insult.” She looked up at the tired Lucius Malfoy “I know why I am here, and it is not to find something.”

“Why?”

“I am...a dissenter.” She said the last word quietly, like it was some kind of failure “I disagreed with the Headmaster.”

“What?” Rabastan sounded horrified. She recoiled from his tone afraid that she had crossed some kind of line with the men in the house and they would hate her as much as The Order did.

“It was about Harry, I wanted to do something without  _ The Order _ weighing us down.” She neglected to mention what  _ it _ was. “The Headmaster found out, and then I was sent here.”

“Did you do what you wanted?” Lucius asked.

“No. No, I just wanted to.”

“A thoughtcrime, then.” Rodolphus looked at her very seriously for a moment “They exiled you for want?”

She hadn’t thought of it that way. She felt stupid for being persecuted by what at the time seemed like the most serious of offenses. “I guess. I don’t know.”

“It means one of two things,” Lucius ignored her last statement “Either Dumbledore is some kind of maniac bent on controlling the thoughts of this Order, or-”

“Or he’s losing control.” Rodolphus made a thoughtful noise. “It makes me wonder what thought the girl at your manor had.”

“Or what she tried to publish.” Rabastan added.

Lucius tapped his finger three times on the table, a thoughtful look passing over his features “I think it’s time for me to read this paper that she’s got going.”

She wondered if the Order would be destroyed by this information, but perhaps tiredness, or retribution made her not care.

Lucius bid them good morning, and stepped out onto the snow covered lawn to apparate away. She could see where Percy Weasley bled out on the lawn, streaks of blood dusted with white powder. She tried to focus on Lucius instead.

“Thank you for breaking the curse.” She said to him.

He raised an eyebrow. “You will pay me back, of course.”

“You owe me.” Rodolphus interjected. 

“And soon, you will also owe me.” She smiled at Lucius “Until next time.”

The three stood in silence, until the master of the house, tired, wearing a loose silk pajama set that exposed black streaks on his chest that matched her own, shuffled back towards his room.

“When will they come?” She asked following Rodolphus up the stairs “When will they come to deal with the murder?”

He yawned, as if murder was a normal, thing, and for all she knew, it  _ was  _ normal for them. This thought should unsettle her, she know it should, but Rabastan was behind her, pressing her up the stairs further.

“No one can come.” The younger brother said “No one could ever come unless they are allowed.”

“Let us rest for awhile,” Rodolphus continued as they reached the second floor.

A lot of things in Hermione’s mind went silent when Rodolphus took her hand again.  
  


* * *

  
“And Weasley said that you stabbed him.” Professor Snape said, exasperated, the next day.

Rodolphus was relaxed, two weeks before Christmas, dressed in a black turtleneck that matched his younger brother who was currently adjusting some equations before they concluded their homemade wand experiment later in the day. Snow was heavy in this region, and she spent most of her time with Rabastan near fires and under blankets in the drafty old manor. 

Professor Snape and Rodolphus came back to the house together after a week’s absence, but in that time she and Rabastan had spent mostly reading in silence together, and her patience for a conclusion from the murder of Moody wore thin.

“I apologize-”   


“Don’t.” Rabastan said beside her, sitting back up and handing her the fixed equations, his ink still wet, so it ran down the paper as she held it.

“The headmaster will be paying you a visit.”

“When?” She asked, sitting up straighter.

“On Christmas.”

Her eyes moved over the equations in mock boredom. “Fine, I think Rodolphus and Rab will be in England anyways. It will be nice to have company.”

Over the course of the week, she had managed to convince herself that her affections for either of them were superficial at best. She would not be the  _ other _ woman for Rodolphus, and she wasn’t sure Rabastan held anything but platonic friendship towards her. There was no way that either man would have any interest in her when the world was at their feet. Desperation led to bad decisions, and she wouldn’t enable them. 

“He wants to hear your side of the story. Obviously, Alastor cursed you, but it could have been a  _ mistake _ .” The last word was drawn out with such venom that Hermione flinched. “There is little doubt in my mind that he was trying to hurt you in order to entrap Rodolphus.”

“Why?”

“Retribution.”

“For?”

Rodolphus seemed suddenly uncomfortable “The aurors I killed.”

“And now you’ve killed another.” She looked up at him briefly, before casting his eyes back down. “Who will come next for retribution next? The Minister of Magic?”

The fact that she was present at the murder of one of her former professors made her stomach curdle. She remembered it vividly every night, the way Percy screamed when she stabbed him, the curse that ate her alive, the anger, the relief. In some of her nightmares, she killed them all, the grass was stained in blood, and in others, she was killed. Stabbed by the same knife she had taken to Percy.

“The Ministry won’t be involved. The case was closed by Le Commissaire.” Rodolphus continued, his voice smooth “He was not working as a government employee when he crossed the channel.”

To put an end to a murder with a two hour conversation seemed so trite to her. Was life really so easily taken and dealt with? The howls of pain from Percy Weasley rang throughout her head and she closed her eyes trying to shut it out.

Rabastan rubbed her back soothingly, sensing her distress. “Don’t concern yourself with it.”

“I still stabbed him.” She said quietly “They will come to arrest me for it. I am just waiting.”

“The wait will be infinite then.” Her Professor said, his voice held some tenderness for her “I reviewed the memories just like everyone else in this room. It was not unprovoked.”

Her hand went up to her hair where Percy had held it so roughly and she stared at her tea, curls of steam rising and disappearing into the room. “I’ve never harmed anyone.”

“Not like you could.” Professor Snape chided “Which we will change.”

She looked up from her tea to see Rodolphus and Professor Snape standing up “Practice?” Rodolphus asked.

She gratefully accepted.  
  


* * *

  
The sun was gone, and she sat alone in the Cavern Library, realizing that in the past month being alone in this house was somewhat of a rare occasion. Rabastan and Rodolphus had both left with Professor Snape to spend the holidays in England. Something the brothers were loathe to do, but she understood as an outsider that she was not invited. 

She tried to cement herself as an outsider to them, there was something sinister in her attraction towards the two brothers, and she tried not to spend any time examining it. The way they moved around her was a dance. The push and pull between the three of them was becoming less and less push and more pull. They were inseparable alone, she would spend more and more time on the second floor in the suite of rooms that connected itself to Rodolphus’ large master bedroom. 

The makeshift wand and now the dragon heartstring floated before her. She held the book open with one hand and began to chant in latin. “Vis accipere”

Her head began to hurt, a throbbing pain with her heartbeat as she could see the faint white glow of magic on her skin “ _ Vis accipere _ .” She insisted, pointing at the floating stick that was now spinning lazily in a vortex.

There was a pain behind her eyes and she knew from the texts that she was either close to exploding with her own magic or creating her first wand.  _ “Vis accipere _ .” She hissed.

A faint orange glow surrounded the stick and the dragon heartstring as they swirled closer and closer together. The floor seemed to rattle and the lights flickered around her, but she wasn’t sure if it was the lights or her own vision. This was it. If the stick didn’t accept her magic that was emanating from her it would snap back painfully into her skin.

The orange light began to glow brighter and brighter, until it was white. The library was responding to her spellwork, the lights in the room growing almost painfully bright. It felt like someone was driving a knife into the side of her skull. And then in a flash of white she heard a howl, and she collapsed onto the cold stone floor.

There was a clatter of the stick beside her. All that could be heard was her labored breathing. Had she screamed? She closed her eyes and listened to her own heart as the headache receded. The whole room seemed to pulsate with her, the air shifted and swirled around her, the magic trying to find equilibrium in the room.

She turned to press her cheek on the cold stone floor, willing with everything she had that her head would stop pounding. Her eyes opened, the library was completely dark except for the glow of moonlight from the windows.

She saw the stick, a piece of driftwood she had lovingly carved into a crude wand. Her hand came out to touch it and it vibrated with her magic.

_ Lumos _ .

It answered her silent spell, and the tip glowed.  _ Ding _ went the star gauge.

She smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of commenters wondered last time what the Order was up to and why they were being so annoying, and so this chapter explores more of those questions by giving you more questions and more theories to work with.
> 
> As for why they wanted to return her to England, I hope that the subtext of this relationship between her and the brothers becomes apparent as time wears on. Hermione is not exactly doing everything "above board" anymore.
> 
> I am still far out from where we are posting. I hope you enjoy this short chapter, the next one (which I will post at the end of the week) will be rather long.


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione Granger, wand maker. She hummed happily to herself while eating a lonely breakfast in the kitchens with the elves bustling around her, it was ten days until Christmas.

Hermione Granger, duelist and wand maker. She stared at the driftwood that kept her weak for two days after it’s creation. It worked incredibly well, responding to her magic much quicker and much more innately than the wand from Ollivander's. She was shocked at the smoothness despite low quality ingredients that she had collected from around the manor.

Hermione LeStrange, keeper of the cavern library, artisanal wandmaker, excellent duelist, and charming French scholar. She blushed at the thought and looked out onto the back yard that was blanketed in virginal white, snow coming down in fat flakes in the early light of morning. Married. _Married_. Her brain counteracted her girlish daydreams.

Rabastan was not, but for some reason, there was no way to separate her feelings for the brothers into a singular entity. They came together in her mind, and in her dreams. Her face was red hot when she thought of those dreams. Where they did more than sit together on the couch and read.

Where Rabastan’s long fingers did more than turn pages or fix ancient magical instruments. Where they really showed her what  _ ours _ meant. Deviant, she chastised.

She ate the rest of her eggs in silence, trying to wonder what Luna was up to, or Harry for that matter. Turning her thoughts towards anything that wasn’t the LeStrange brothers. She wondered if there would be a Yule ball, or how her parents were getting along in Australia. If Crookshanks even remembered that she was his owner, and if the war would be won without her.

Or lost.

She got up at the last thought, intending to wander back towards the sitting room to spend the cold afternoon near a fire when there was suddenly a purple cast to the room and the elves looked up from their tasks out the window, still crowded with drying herbs and meats.

“Mistress is here.” Bessie said, her ears flat against her head, her hands in small fists “Mistress is here to punish Bessie again. Master says do not let Mistress in, but Mistress is also Mistress.”

The elf looked at her “What does Bessie do, Miss Mudblood?”

Her eyes went out across the snow to see who exactly was at the edge of the wards attacking them, but she knew even though from this distance it was only an ant against a sea of white. She did not need to see Bellatrix to know that it was her. There was only one Mistress LeStrange alive.

“Finish cleaning.” She said, knowing that it was suicide either way for the elf, but she had no way to contact Rodolphus to protect the elf or herself. She had to minimize any harm to them from their mistress even if it meant danger for herself. “Fetch Pierrot, I will ask an oath of all three of you to protect your master.”

“Master Rabastan says that Miss Mudblood likes elves.” Bessie said warily.

“I do.”

“Elves will not die for Miss Mudblood.”

Hermione wondered why Bessie thought she was going to kill her, but decided to file that away. “Oaths do not mean death. They are a promise.”

“If elves break oaths they die, this is what Master Rabastan says.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Hermione sighed “I will not ask an oath, I will ask that even if Mistress comes here that you tell them no one is here.”

“Master already makes this oath with the elves.” Bessie was clearly annoyed. “What does Bessie do with Mistress?”

“Let her in.” She said “I will hide. If she cannot get in, she’ll take it out on Rodolphus. We must protect the Master first.”

* * *

  
She crawled into the darkest and smallest alcove in the room that was to be avoided: the room of statues. They sometimes moved, and in the darkness they looked like ghosts, shifting as she passed them, her magic imbuing them with life. The hall of figures was seemingly endless. She could hear the star gauge still, dinging happily every so often, the hum of magic from the library was louder than she remembered, it oscillated and droned in a strange slow song, almost imperceptible to her ears.

She quickly cast a notice-me-not charm and crouched behind a Roman statue of a goddess, staring directly at the mouth of the cave and the entrance of the room, waiting for Bellatrix to find her.

However, Bellatrix’s madness was something she underestimated. The ebb and flow of the magic of another as the mad witch began to tear through the cavern library felt like the ocean crashing against the shore. She could hear _revealio_ being screamed, looking for some trace of Professor Snape, books clattering and his name chanted: “Traitorous Severus.”

Every so often a spell would pass the mouth of the room and Hermione would duck down behind the base of the statue, holding her breath and waiting for the mad witch to arrive, to somehow appear before her. She closed her eyes, knowing that if she opened them, Bellatrix would be able to see her.

A scream, then laughter, now closer and the star gauge made a  _ ding _ and a clatter as it was destroyed. Her favorite room, gone. Bellatrix was now just across the hall, and she knew the room of statues would be next. She could cast no magic for it would give away her position in the darkness. She would wait until the other witch tired herself out and left, or tired herself out and was easier to duel.

Plaster exploded somewhere in the darkness of the room of statues, cracking against the floor. The madness was here, and the drone of magic in the library turned into a high pitched whine, like a hurt dog.

It urged her to do something, to get away from the noise, to protect it. Hermione stood up in the darkness and knew that regardless of whether she could best Bellatrix, she could not hide behind a marble statue that would ultimately crush her if it was agitated. She had to duel her, and with only two lessons, could she best the witch?

An  _ Expelliarmus _ arced through the air, its white light illuminating statues. Bellatrix turned to face Hermione in the darkness, but could not see her in the room of figures, and so her eyes kept moving from statue to statue, casting to kill goddesses and roman centurions, the green haze of the killing curse began to give the room an ambient and suffocating light. 

Hermione moved closer, remembering her two lessons, which she realized were paltry compared to this. She had to engage Bellatrix, who was not a duellist in the sense that her Professor or Rodolphus was, but an unpredictable berserker who fought all and killed all without reason. Another expelliarmus, but it missed, swirling past the other witch and catching a bust and shattering it. Marble rained onto the floor.

“Say your name so I can tell Severus who I killed.” Bellatrix demanded, her voice turned into a screech as Hermione caught her with a hex that made her stumble. “Weak magic, weak wizard.”

Just  _ leave _ , Hermione thought as she moved towards the mouth of the room of statues. Suddenly there was a blinding white light as Bellatrix cast a  _ lumos maxima _ and the room was bathed in light and they caught eyes.

“Ah, weak witch.”

Panic tripped her brain into survival mode. Hermione was close to the exit and could run, but she knew there were only two options. Bellatrix killed her, or told the Dark Lord of brothers’ betrayal and killed them all.

She squeezed her wand and knew there was only one option. “ _ Confringo _ .” She shouted and rushed towards Bellatrix, hoping that she could get close enough to mimic her duelling lessons, and Bellatrix, in her madness, tittered and came towards her in almost a skip.

Stone exploded near them, hitting the floors like heavy rain, dust kicking up as the lumos maxima began to fade. “ _ Crucio! _ Are you Severus’ ickle girlfriend?”

The curse missed her by mere centimeters and Hermione pressed herself up against the statue of a minotaur that towered over her. “ _ Expelliarmus! _ ”

“Crucio!” A jet of red light volleyed back, missing her barely again and Hermione felt the darkness of the curse, like needles prickling her skin as it passed. She was eighteen, and she had made plenty of stupid decisions in her life, but bravely trying to assault a high ranking Death Eater was probably the dumbest decision she had made thus far. 

“ _ Expluso. _ ” Hermione returned and she heard a cry and a thud.

A quick lumos and she rushed towards Bellatrix, hoping to disarm her before she gathered herself but when she went in the direction of the noise there was nothing but more statues, more destroyed deities waiting for her in the dark.

A statue moved out of the corner of her eye, and then her vision was consumed by red light “ _ Crucio _ .”

The cruciatus curse, unlike the burning curse that Moody had put her on, consumed her body instantly. She had known no suffering in her life until the unforgivable enveloped her in white hot agony. She bit her own tongue to stop herself from making any noise.

As soon as it came upon her it went, and her ears were ringing and she felt nauseous. She heard the clatter as her wand was kicked away. “Explain what a little girl like you is doing in  _ my house _ with Severus.”

Bellatrix was so close to her ear she could feel her lips moving. “You have ten seconds.”

Hermione did not reply.

She felt the wand jab into her spine “ _ Crucio _ .”

Was she dying? Her muscles spasmed in pain and she curled up into herself, the same way the spider had done in Defense class in her fourth year. Could she die? She hugged herself, trying to protect herself from something, she wasn’t sure. She felt a jab of something against her chest.

Bile rose in her throat as the curse was lifted again. The wand. The wand she had made for Rabastan was still in her pocket. Fight, Hermione! Her mind screamed at her. Will you die in this stupid statue room?

She slipped her hand in her pocket and her fingers curled around the rough wood. Her whole body was wracked with shivers as she lost control of herself. The curse was taking control away from her. Could she even get enough strength to summon magic?

“Does he fuck you? You seem his type. _Or_...are you fucking my husband instead?” This very thought seemed to incense Bellatrix and her foot landed hard into Hermione’s rib cage, it felt like she couldn’t breathe anymore.

She coughed up her own blood, the next word came out in a wheeze “ _ Crucio _ .” Hermione hissed, pointing the wand at Bellatrix’s foot and the other witch fell into a heap on the floor. 

Searing rage caused the pain to fall away briefly and Hermione stumbled to her feet and straddled the chest of the insane witch who was laughing and staring up at the ceiling. “ _ Petrificus Totalus _ .”

Another statue to add to the hall of statues, and Hermione pointed the crude wand between the eyes of the other woman.

She had to get rid of this, she couldn’t have Bellatrix causing trouble for Rodolphus or Rabastan. The small witch tilted Bellatrix’s head up so that her eyes locked with hers. Her mind was ringing several alarms. It was hard to breathe, and Hermione’s breathing was raspy when she could take a breath. Her whole body was twitching in strange directions, like a marionette caught on the breeze.

She had done this once before, her parents. 

“Obliviate.”

The wisp of the memory of the entire day floated between Hermione’s eyes and Bellatrix’s and she batted it away. No need for it to be saved.

She stumbled away, unsure of what she should do. She could barely stand, her shoulder checking a statue of another Roman goddess as she fell out into the hall of the library, looking at the remnants of the star gauge that were now just a heap of metal.

She tried to stand again, and realized she could not. She could hear the gentle lullaby of the warded door behind her, urging her to come back, and she knew she had to get away from it lest it drag her backwards.

She needed medical help. She needed  _ something _ . She tried to get up after crawling past some broken pottery, knowing that the shards would cut her if she attempted to go any further. Nausea came up as she stood, tightening her stomach and she coughed more blood up on the floor, gagging on the metallic taste in her mouth.

Her vision kept tunnelling and the scones of the library seemed to burn brighter than sunlight as it guided her back towards the sitting room. The three elves were cowering near the stacks closest to the giant windows.

The sea crashed angrily up against the windows, white froth sticking to the glass panes. “Bessie,” To speak hurt, her brain seemed to forget that she was speaking and she tripped on a stone, collapsing painfully against the stone floors.

There was no way to stand anymore. She tried to get to a piece of furniture and she heard some cries of “Miss Mudblood” but it seemed distant.

She was a terrible duelist.  
  


* * *

  
Consciousness was becoming harder and harder to grasp on to, the first few times it came and went like mist. How much time had passed she wasn’t sure. The room tilted back and forth as if she was on a great ship, and for a few moments, she wondered if she  _ was _ on a ship, but the stone beneath her face confirmed she had not moved from the floor of the library.

A puff of air as she shifted “Miss Mudblood, Miss Mudblood!” Alice was shaking her and she whined trying to recoil from touch. “Miss Mudblood is sick.”

Miss Mudblood was indeed sick. She didn’t know if she could move anymore. She shuddered from cold, a pool of blood was forming near her mouth, her mouth tasted like she had licked a metal pole. The word was spoken like a prayer “Rodolphus.”

Alice made a high pitched wail and moved away from her, she could hear the other elves chattering in French and Hermione attempted to move to a sitting position but her arms seemed to lack any strength and so she just decided to roll over on her back. 

“Master cannot answer, masters are not  _ answering _ .” Alice wailed and she heard the elf drop a book.

She woke up and it was light out. All three elves were crowding her. “Rabastan?” She begged fate to come and rescue her. Someone must have noticed that Bellatrix was missing by now and sought her out.

“Miss Mudblood, Bessie has went to Belle-Dunne.” Alice said and the words seemed to melt away. “To send word.”

To send word of what? It felt like her head was full of cotton. She wanted to sleep, it begged for her to return, she saw the shadow pass of another, taller figure, but she did not know who it was. Bellatrix? No, she was still petrified on the floor. How long had it been?

“Today?”

“In the night, it takes many hours.” Alice cooed softly. She had never known such kindness from the old elf.

“Please,” What was she begging for?

“Miss Mudblood do not talk.” Alice assured and she felt something shift beside her, the air changed, the magic of another. “Alice took care of the holes, but the blood keeps coming.”

God, what did she mean?

The next time she opened her eyes it was white. Her whole vision was white, and she realized after a fashion she was just staring at a white ceiling and not heaven. She was in a hospital of some sort, hooked up to a heart monitor that kept beeping over and over. She matched her breathing to the pulse so she would not panic.

Was she in England? Was she in France? She turned and looked over at the monitor, trying to understand what was going on. It began to spike with her panic and a nurse bustled in. It was a muggle hospital, and not very big, she could see that there were only a narrow hallway and a sliding panel door between her room and another room across the hall.

“Bonjour Madamoiselle Dupont, tu es réveillé.”

“Bo-Bonjour.” Hermione coughed and blood wetted the white sheets.

“Ah, English.” The Nurse said and bent over, checking her vitals, and cleared her throat before beginning in stilted speech “We did not know z’ere waz anyone in zat  _ maison _ . You ‘ave a punctured lung, and it is taking awhile for zee….zee blood to leave.”

“Did anyone come for me?” She asked, it hurt to speak.

“Non, no visitors, do you ‘ave any family? We can telephone zem to come.” The nurse began to hastily put a blood pressure cuff on her arm and she flinched at the contact. “You ‘ave ‘ad many spasms, from ze blood loss, you will be very sore.”

Cruciatus, no doubt. Did they find Bellatrix? Did she escape? They had to have done something with her by now. Hermione suffered the nurse’s fiddling and found she was exhausted. Even thinking was taking a lot out of her now, and the nurse cleaned up the blood she had coughed on herself and checked her over.

“Mademoiselle Dupont, do you ‘ave a name?”

“Hermione.”

“Oui, ‘er-my-own, and family name?”

A few names went through her mind, but if she was going to be found she needed to make herself visible “LeStrange.”

“Ah, you must be related to ze old family that lives in Le Tourmont.” The nurse scratched some things on a clipboard “We will get in touch with ze family, and you will….ehhhhhh….you will sleep well. To dream.”

The medicine they gave her made it hard to stay awake, some kind of opioid that made the walls melt into water and the din of the hospital turn into music. Her heart monitor was chiming away happily and in her dreams she thought it was the star gauge that had been destroyed. The line between reality and dreams was blurred.

The symphony of the hospital in her head reached some kind of climax, loud noises from the percussion section like cannonfire, and she watched the shadows dance to the waltz of the heart rate monitor.

She dreamed that Rodolphus and Rabastan came, but every time the opioids wore off, she was alone, their touches mere ghosts on her skin. She ached, and the sun kept falling from the sky, until it was no more than darkness.

In darkness, Bellatrix haunted her, and all her wounds only hurt worse, she relived the cruciatus over and over, and whatever medicine they gave her didn’t stop that pain. Her hands trembled as she grabbed onto the sheets, trying to calm herself.

Every time the nurse would come in after a nightmare she wished it was Rodolphus or Rabastan. Every time it wasn’t.

She cried, not from pain, but from loneliness.  
  


* * *

  
Soft fingers in her hair, her name, smoke and wood. She hated these dreams, but for some reason the entirety of this dream was in French. Rodolphus’ voice was like honey and she sighed under his touch, turning so that more of his hand was in more contact with her skin.

“She’s been heavily drugged by the muggles.” Professor Snape said “It is called morphine. It is to suppress pain.”

“What the devil for?” Rodolphus said.

“A punctured lung.” There was a shuffle of papers “Full body spasms of unknown origin.”

“Cruciatus.” Rabastan was on the other side of her. 

Her vision swirled before her, the light bending and taking on several colors and none all at once. “Not another dream.” She moaned, tired of being tricked by her own subconscious.

“What have they done to her?” Rodolphus was angry, his gentle caresses stopped.

“She is not aware, it is an opium dream.” Professor Snape’s voice was quiet, “A rough week.”

“Opium is medicine to muggles?” He sounded shocked “Come, I will take care of her back at the manor.”

He gathered her in his arms and the sudden movement made her chest hurt and she cried out.

“She is not fixed, muggle medicine is slow. Be careful with her.” Professor Snape’s voice was harsh, she had heard it in the classroom many times.

“Did I fail?” She asked blearily, unable to understand why she was in her classroom when she was so tired “Professor-”

“No, my girl, you are safe. Let us get you back to the manor. I have been remiss to you.” Rodolphus’ voice was a whisper and she coughed up more blood, but he did not seem phased by his new spots on his white shirt, instead he held her gently, like a child, and picked her up, swaddled in blankets.

“Is Lucius finished?” Rabastan asked as the world swung back and forth like a pendulum, her head lulling, her stomach churning, she began to gag.

“Slowly!” Professor Snape barked angrily and she shrunk away from the noise.

“Did I fail?” She asked again, trying to figure out why he was so angry at her. “I turned in my homework.”

“I failed,” Rodolphus said, his voice rumbled through her “I will not fail you again.”

“The next time you fail, she will be dead.” Professor Snape drawled.

“Then I will follow.” Rodolphus sounded annoyed by and shifted her weight.

She was suddenly cold, trying to burrow herself into the warmth of Rodolphus as they exited the hospital. She could hear the sea crashing loudly against the shore, the wind came and went with the waves. She could feel herself being pulled and pushed with the waves. Her head lulled to the side and she felt a hand steady it.

“She will pay.” Rabastan said somewhere behind her, and she opened her eyes to see him trailing her with Professor Snape, his face drawn. “She will pay a price far greater than that auror did.”

Bellatrix plagued her dreams. She whined in pain, her mouth full of her own blood as she stopped herself from screaming, and then her eyes shot open. No longer under the influence of morphine she could finally make sense of what she was seeing. Rich burgundy tapestries, and someone was prodding her from the side.

Professor Snape was the first person she saw when she woke, rolling over to cough up more blood and felt his long fingers rub her back soothingly as he  _ evanesco’d _ the blood on the sheets. “Are you with us this time Miss Granger?” He asked as she shuddered, suppressing a cough.

She nodded and another coughing fit seized her, more blood came out of her mouth and her chest rattled with fluids stuck in her lungs. Her whole body hurt, but she was lucid.

Professor Snape sighed and pushed her hair back away from her face, cleaning the blood up again. “The rest of it has to come out, unfortunately. You had a lot of bleeding.”

“Today?”

“Today is the solstice.” He said quietly. “The first few hours of it.”

“Headmaster.”

“Not for days yet.”

She relaxed against the pillows when the next coughing fit did not come, closing her eyes and trying to take stock of her own wellbeing.

“It took us three days to find you.” His voice held censure, but she ignored it, instead turning her head to see a sleeping Rodolphus who was still completely dressed, his curly hair sticking up every which way, his arms woven with hers. “Miss  _ LeStrange _ .”

“I thought it would make it easier for you to find me.” She huffed and then another coughing fit started.

“I searched all over this bloody country for Miss Hermione Granger, only to find out Miss Hermione LeStrange was an hours drive from this very property.”

“Bellatrix?”  
  
“Is missing a good chunk of her memories and does not remember the last three weeks.”

She laughed weakly “Not good, then?”

“Not precise,” Her professor said leaning back in his chair “But good enough.”

Her laughter woke Rodolphus up who stared at her strangely. “Hermione?”

“She’s lucid.” Professor Snape then began to laugh.

They had tea at half past three in the morning and Professor Snape, with the help of Rabastan began to recount what Rodolphus had fondly referred to as his “opium girl.” Her face was burning by the first few minutes of it.

While they tried to fix her punctured lung she cried because Rodolphus would not let her wear his cloak, and then, when she got it, refused to let go of his arm and would scream like a banshee that he was going to leave her alone again.

There were two waking spells in which she thought she could speak fluent French, and kept telling them her name and that she was going to the movie theater. Followed by pointing at everything and exclaiming “Bien sur!” and Rabastan participated in a very long conversation with her about cats (“J’ai un chat”) and cake (“Je manger le gâteau”) and both (“J’aime un chat et un gateau.”) until she quieted herself to sleep.

At half past one, her dreamless sleep wore off and she woke up sobbing that she had died some time in the night and she was in heaven because Rodolphus had managed to doze off beside her in bed (owing to a previous episode where she would not take any potions unless he held her hand).

“Please stop.” She said, mortified “I don’t want to know anymore.” 

“Ah, a pity, my pretty French opium girl is gone.” Rodolphus laughed beside her, refilling her tea cup “And Severus didn’t even tell you how you begged him for an extra credit assignment as we left Belle-Dunne because you thought he was kicking you out of Hogwarts.”

“How long?”

“Between the time you somehow arrived at the clinic and tonight, it has been four days. You’re absolutely littered with bruises, and apparently they had strapped you to the bed in that torture chamber under the guise of a hospital when you were suffering from the aftershocks of the Cruciatus. Your shoulder had been dislocated.”

“How many times were you cursed?” Rabastan asked.

“Twice? Three times? I can’t remember.” She tried to sound blasé but her nerves ached at the memory, she winced.

“You are a quick learner.” Professor Snape said into his tea cup “Bellatrix seemed to be suffering the same spasms.”

Her cup clattered and she almost dropped it. Rodolphus’ hands came around hers to steady it. “Retribution was due.”

“When Lucius went to clear your records at the Ministry, the Ministry did not register the use of any unforgivables, and then there is  _ this _ .” Professor Snape held up her driftwood wand. “Which we found at the hospital in your personal effects.”

“That is the wand I made.”

Her Professor looked at her like she was insane. “What?”

“That is the wand I made for Rabastan.” She clarified.

He looked at it and then back at her.

“You made a wand?”

“He needed one that wasn’t trackable by the Ministry, and I made one with potion’s ingredients I found and a piece of driftwood.” 

Rabastan plucked it from his fingers and swished it, the room lit up brightly as he cast a lumos. “Brilliant.”

His smile was as bright as his wand tip, and Hermione felt her insides melt.

“Why did you do this?” Professor Snape asked again, clearly confused that she had both made a wand, and seemed to think it was an easy task.

“Rabastan’s magic is too unstable, I had to fix it.” She said and yawned “Hence, a wand.”

The younger brother was swishing and flicking his crude wand left and right testing all manner of spells which made all the books float, sort, and then reorganize themselves. After awhile, Professor Snape handed her a few vials and excused himself. “You’ll continue to cough up blood, but at least you won’t be bleeding anymore. I am in the next room until tomorrow.”

He left the three of them alone and she stared at her tea cup, empty now, cold. She turned to Rodolphus who was studying her. “I was afraid she would put you in danger, I didn’t know what came over me. I just...I was so scared and  _ angry _ . I don’t want to apologize for using an unforgivable on your wife, but I feel as if I should.”

“My Hermione,” He said, two fingers coming to her face, ghosting against her skin “I have made you a promise when you were given to me.”

“You made The Order a promise.”

“No, I made you a promise, little witch.” His voice was barely a whisper. “No harm will come to you.”

She couldn’t respond, she knew this flicker of fear should have driven her away. Rodolphus sometimes spoke with such an intensity she knew that he would destroy the world if he had the time to do so. “Rodolphus.” She whispered his name, a prayer to a god, no, a devil she knew walked this earth with her.

“You are in the care of the House of LeStrange.” He breathed, tilting her head up so their eyes met. “Ours.”

Her blood sang with the word, the ownership, the  _ want _ he clearly had for her. A large part of her mind was screaming  _ married _ but his fingers left fire on her skin and between her legs.

“What happens to those who would harm the witch in the care of this house?” Rabastan asked across from her, watching the scene before her with the same fire in his eyes.

“Retribution.” Rodolphus said the word with such latent sexuality she had to swallow the gasp that threatened to expose her. His voice summoned every cell in her body and she couldn’t look at either of them.

The way the LeStrange brothers cared for her was no longer something she could ignore, or chalk up to a misunderstanding for her Stockholm Syndrome. There was a fire within them that shone brightly. The fingers on her chin went to her cheek and brushed away the hair on her shoulder, exposing her neck and the flimsy robes she wore as night things.

She wanted him to kiss her, to devour her whole and leave no trace of Hermione Granger and all of what she was, leaving only what she wished to be.

Theirs.

A cough began in her chest and she angrily tried to suppress it, covering her face with her hands as she ruined the moment by coughing up more of her own blood into her hands.

She was gathered in Rodolphus’ arms. He smelled like cinnamon and saltwater. “Rab will be here for you tonight. I will be back tomorrow afternoon.”

He cleaned her hands with a wet cloth that was already in a basin of watery blood. Rodolphus LeStrange, convict, death eater, murderer of aurors, and married man, cleaned each digit with care, before kissing the palm of her hand.

She tried to ignore the way her whole body ached at the touch of his lips against her sensitive skin. Married. Married! Her brain was screaming, but it seemed so easy to just let her have this. No one was here except Rabastan. He would not tell.

“Before the Headmaster comes?” She asked.  
  
“Before then.” He promised.

Rabastan sat beside her bed when his brother had left the room, taking her free hand in his. An easy affection between them, he massaged her hand, turning it over in his own until she fell asleep. The last thing she felt was his hands squeezing hers and another pair of lips ghosting over her fingers.

She wondered just how much care she would receive from the house of LeStrange, and if her morals could hold up much longer against it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter to end this week.
> 
> We're going to have to deal with the wife sooner or later.


	12. Chapter 12

Rabastan was asleep half on top of her, still managing to sit in the chair. She felt infinitely better after her rest, no longer was each breath clogged with fluids of her own blood and the bruises had started to fade. The last vestiges of the morphine that the hospital had given her had faded away, her thoughts were no longer padded in opium cotton. She shifted and he moved, suddenly awake.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” She wanted to laugh, his hair was pin straight on one side, and completely tangled and knotted on the other. Her hand came out to fix his hair and she noted the bruises from her restraints, mingling. “You look ridiculous.”

“We had to go to England and stay, because we were worried that auror would report that I was missing.” He huffed as she continued to comb through his hair. “They came, of course. I was stuck in jail for a few days in the bowels of the Ministry until Lucius and Yaxley came to fish me out.”

“Ridiculous.” She said and shifted again, trying to shimmy out of bed, but her legs were being uncooperative.

“It’s why we couldn’t receive any of the summons from the elves.” He said and finally helped her out of bed “A mistake I won’t make twice.”

“It’s not a mistake, you _were_ out of the country and therefore broke your probation.”  
  
“The mistake was getting caught.” Rabastan said as they began the slow and frustrating walk towards the dining hall. “Lean on me, and tell me more about your cat who likes to eat cake.”

“I’ll kill you if you ever mention that to anyone outside this room.” She said, taking his hands and attempting to walk towards the door of the room. Her legs were half asleep, the static buzzing through her as she woke up her disused muscles and began the long, arduous journey down the hall.

Professor Snape was at breakfast with them, no doubt notified by the elves who were very happy to see Miss Mudblood and Rabastan return. He kept pushing her to eat more, even though after some fresh fruit and a slice of bread she was more than full. 

He seemed more at ease today, his usual irritations were back. He quizzed her over breakfast about wandmaking, her health, and the last journal he had left for her to read. “It was your journals that actually made it possible, Professor, as there was a study done on  _ Dragon Parts and their Potions _ in Journal 26 of Potions Monthly. I found some in a potion’s closet ”

“Always a pleasure to be of assistance.” He drawled “Lucius says he will bring the Lovegood girl here for New Years, as requested.”  
  
“By whom?” She asked looking up from her now empty plate.

“By me.” Rabastan replied “I thought it would be nice for you two to get to see each other, instead of keeping company with old men all the time.”

She looked at the younger brother “I thought you would stay in England for the holidays?”

“I heard that a very important guest is dropping by on Christmas day. An old man with a long white beard that comes bearing  _ presents _ .” Rabastan said airily. “We wouldn’t want to miss his visit.”

“When you are better, we will continue your duelling lessons, until you either understand that you are not proficient, or you become proficient enough to not get cursed.” Professor Snape stood “Two lessons does not make you an expert. Luck is on your side, but luck can often run out.”

As they followed him out into the foyer, which was now being scrubbed by two elves, she did not want to wonder whose blood was on the hardwood, she presumed it was hers or another's. “I am looking forward to it, Professor.”

She realized as he stepped out into the bright light reflected off the snow in the early morning that Professor Snape actually cared for her well being in a strange way. He turned back to look at the two of them and she offered him a small smile. “Travel safe.”

“No more duels, Miss Granger.”

“I’ll see to it.” Rabastan replied behind her.

“No more duels for  _ now _ .” She smiled.  
  


* * *

  
Rabastan began the finicky task of repairing her star gauge while she began to stack the books that were piled up near the sitting area for her to read. A few books on affinities, some ancient LeStrange ledgers, a book on  _ cruxes _ which she hadn’t touched despite being interested in helping The Order, and a few books detailing the philosophy of The Beetle and the Bard.

Many unread. She looked at how much she had pulled down for the help of a group that had largely forgotten about her. She mulled over possible ways her Christmas with the Headmaster was going to happen as she idly traced the gold filigree on one of the ancient ledgers from the LeStrange’s first years in medieval France.

He could return her to England, and trap her in Grimmauld place. She was sure if he chose that she would go insane. It was at least four times smaller than Le Tourmont and the library was lacking. The thought of being separated from here made her stomach twist into knots. If she was alone in England with what she had done to Percy, there would be no end to the torment.

The alternative is that he apologized for Moody’s behavior, but she wasn’t sure that Moody’s behavior wasn’t out of line with what Dumbledore would have wanted. She was sure that there was bad blood between the Ministry and the LeStranges, they were both convicts, but they were also bound to Dumbledore.

She heard something clatter in the other room and Rabastan started cursing in French, and her mind turned over that last sentence.

Bound by what? The Ministry had kept Rabastan’s wand hostage, but it could easily be snapped now that she had provided him a new wand. There was nothing keeping them in The Order, or beholden to their rules. When Dumbledore came would the brothers cut ties with her and retreat from the war, or retreat back to their old master.

She picked up a diary from the first years of the LeStrange family in France, and began to walk back towards the room, her steps in tune with the melodic buzz of the library that everyone in the house had acknowledged and ignored. Rabastan had told her that it had a message for him, but that he refused to answer. Her curiosity whetted but she knew, even as she approached the obsidian door at the back of the library, that it had a power over this library, and that the paltry wards that Rodolphus erected, did little to stop it’s siren song from enticing her towards it.

She turned away from it, and looked at the man who was wearing a pair of loose grey plaid pajama pants and a black shirt as he carefully aligned two rings by hand, moving them until they began to move by themselves, powered by unseen forces, aligning and stopping, before starting again. “Slow work.” He said to her, not looking away from his work “It took me three days to do this initially, even with a wand it’s no faster.”

“Do you think I’ll go back to England?” She asked.

“Do you want to?” He asked, picking up a large ring and beginning to spell it back together, it had bent and torn at one side, the metal shorn across in jagged points like teeth. His finger moved over the metal and it seemed to melt itself back into place. His caress was loving and she looked away, fearful of her thoughts and  _ those hands _ .

“No.”

“Then you won’t.” Rabastan said and began to hang the ring in orbit around the two disks he spun in front of him earlier.

“I doubt that I can challenge the Headmaster if he wants to take me back to England.”

Rabastan looked over at her, his eyes dancing with mischief as the star gauge began to click and whirr “And who is he to you?”

She scrunched up her face at the stupid question. “He’s the headmaster.”

“You are not at school.”

“True.”

“And you are not in England.”

“Yes, but Rab-”

“So? Why can he make  _ you _ do anything?” He turned back to his work, picking up an even larger disc, this one had small engravings of constellations that were demarcated by notches.

She looked at him as if he had gone mad. He was the most powerful wizard in England, if Dumbledore wanted something, then she would have to acquiesce. She had no friends outside of The Order, no connections, no money to speak of save for her paltry savings that her parents had put into wizarding money so she could afford school supplies. She hadn’t even managed to graduate school, so the only jobs she could manage to find paid minimum wage at best.

She sat next to him and cracked open the journal which she thought was going to be another finance ledger but the neat cursive shocked her. It was an actual diary and not another boring transactional book. 

Was there a way to graduate from Beauxbatons? She skimmed over the text, it was written near the end of the tenth century. Could she start over in Europe? Would the LeStrange brothers even keep her? 

_ Corvus keeps us away from the caverns beneath the house. This has caused us great trouble, Christienne is drawn from her bed towards the sea caves, one day I believe she will drown. _

She looked up from the diary and at the back of Rabastan’s head. “You’re not in school.”

He turned to look back at her, a smile on his lips “I take it you’ve noticed then.”

“Noticed what?”

“That I am in my forties.” He said with a laugh. “I am not in school and have no wish to return.”

She nudged his back with her bare foot and rolled her eyes. “So why do _you_ listen to the Headmaster?”

He stopped repairing the disc that was in at least six pieces and turned back towards her, crawling so that his face was near hers, “Two reasons.” His voice was quiet and she closed her eyes briefly, wondering if he would kiss her.

Rabastan moved to sit next to her, their backs against the cave wall, their shoulders together and she exhaled, not sure why she was holding her breath or if he even noticed that she wanted him to kiss her. She was stupid, this was all one sided. She was barely scraping past eighteen and he was in his forties.

“One, Rodolphus is bound by contract, and two, you.”

“Me?” She looked up at him and the light from the star that rested at the center of the star gauge illuminated them both.

He turned to her, leaning over so that they were co-conspirators in this dark corner of the cave. “Yes, you listen to Dumbledore, so we have to fall in line, for now.”

“Why?” She realized she was leaning closer.

“You are in our care, Hermione.” Finally, the distance between their lips were inches and Rabastan tucked two fingers underneath her chin, moving her a millimeter closer and there was a briefest of touches between them. She could feel his long black hair tickling her face as he kissed her. As soon as it started, it ended, and fire filled her veins.

She didn’t want to move, frozen, afraid that if she shifted he would flee or that this would be another dream and she would wake up in that terrible hospital. His fingers left her chin and moved to trace her jawline and she  _ felt _ it. The magic around her shifted, like a small breeze and she opened her eyes to see his black ones reflecting the starlight of the room. “You felt it?”

“What was that?”

“The wards.”

She looked up at the ceiling of the cavern hoping for some confirmation of what she had felt from the stone, the melody of the library changed its pitch. “Rodolphus is back.”

“Magic speaks, and you have finally learned to hear it.” He almost purred “Now, you will understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Magic.”

His kiss was still on her lips, and she licked them, hoping for a taste of him, wishing she had the courage to take more. She understood completely what was missing from her life. What Ron, Viktor, and others had tried to give her in brief touches and kisses just like this one. She hadn’t experienced magic until Rabastan kissed her.  
  


* * *

  
Rodolphus was windblown and red faced as he took off his winter robes and handed them to the elves, dusting off as much snow as he could on the cold December afternoon. He was trying to brush some errant flakes out of his hair when he caught sight of her and his brother coming to greet him.

“You are looking much better,” He commented coming over to greet her, looking her over seriously for any signs that she was still sick from the curse and the morphine “I can tell you haven’t eaten.”

“I ate entirely too much for breakfast.” She protested but the three of them went off towards the kitchens anyways, Rodolphus’ hand on the small of her back, guiding him with him as he complained about the weather, and Lucius, who was apparently coming by for dinner.

Rodolphus crouched down next to the wood burning stove, the elves scattered and complained as he began to sift through the wood to find something to start stoking the fires. He picked up a log and examined it briefly before tossing it back on the pile.

“Where were you?” She asked.

“Tending to some unfortunate business.” He said and looked at another log, deciding that this one was acceptable and pushing it into the embers of the fire followed by a hiss and a  _ pop _ as the embers began to renew themselves in flame.

“Death Eater business?” Hermione asked sitting at the low table that was meant for elves, her knees coming up to her chest.

Rodolphus was inspecting another log and his eyes slid over to her as Rabastan sat down beside her, on the floor not on the small elven chairs, his legs stretched out underneath the table, his back against some cupboards, his hair gathering in pools around his shoulders.

His brother was, in better study, the contrast of Rabastan, and Rodolphus stuffed another log into the stove before swinging the door shut. “I have made a lot of mistakes, and I am trying to clean all of them up, including a lifelong mistake.”

“Joining the Dark Lord?”  
  
A small smile was her reward as the older brother stood up. “That, unfortunately, is not a mistake I could make, but a sin of our father’s.”

Rodolphus crossed the room, the light catching his white shirt, showing her the matching black streaks across his torso underneath his button down. He dressed comfortably around her, and his brother. Even around Lucius he was never so dressed down. She found intimacy in strange things.

A glass bottle of milk was stacked on top of a spice jar that he carried nestled under his chin for stability and he was trailed by a pot and a spoon floating behind him as he made his way back to the low stove. “You know, as a child of the sacred twenty eight, which is just code for  _ former Ministers _ and the like, you would assume the world is open to us, however, upon my birth, I have been imprisoned, because upon my birth I was given a wife.”

“Druella Black had three daughters, Andromeda, Bellatrix, and Narcissa. When I was born Andromeda was too old to make a good match anymore, so my father promised me to Bellatrix Black, I was three. Our match was made for a coalition of families on the Wizengamot that were going to support the “old ways”. Druella Black matched Andromeda to Yaxley’s family, and of course you know of Narcissa and Lucius.” She heard the milk boil as he talked, and he began to stir in the cinnamon, the kitchen filled with her favorite scents: firewood, cinnamon milk, and the LeStrange Brothers.

“As the middle child Bellatrix was  _ angry _ and at first I was angry too. It is easy to be angry. It is easy to think that in anger you can find satisfaction. After awhile, there was nothing but anger, and anger does not give, it only takes. It took my parents, it took me, and then it took Rab.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Rabastan demurred “What she did is not your responsibility.”  
  
“She tried to kill you in your sleep because I cared for you!” There was a clatter and she knew that he was attempting to control his anger over the pot of boiling milk. “And she comes again for another. She is a shell now: madness, and _anger_ and she wants to destroy anything is not. Severus for his apathy, and Hermione for her kindness. Even her beloved Narcissa for her own weakness towards her son.”

“I don’t particularly care for Severus,” Rabastan said, trying to change the topic.  
  
“No one does!” 

“He’s rather nice to me,” Hermione replied, finally finding her voice. “You are not responsible for her actions, Rodolphus.”

Rodolphus handed Rabastan a mug of steaming hot cinnamon milk and then sat down next to her, the three of them made a ridiculous sight in the kitchens, crowded around a table that was no more than two feet off the ground. There was a long pause before anyone spoke, but no one drank, waiting for the drinks to cool off. Steam curled up and faded away, she didn’t know what to say. Rodolphus had never spoke so long about anything before.

“To be honest, my little opium girl, I thought I was paying for the sins of the LeStrange family. To live without anything but anger.”

A long pause.

“I was used to that.”

He finally looked at her, and the vulnerability shocked her. No longer the angry and guarded man, no longer the master of the house, no longer the devil, but completely human. Rodolphus LeStrange.

“I was.”

“But now?” Rabastan asked beside her.

He smiled and leaned towards Hermione, the same way that Rabastan had earlier. “I am not.” 

He did not kiss her, and she would not kiss him, a married man still, and she had morals even if they fell away around the presence of either of them. She wanted it, every cell in her body pushed them together, but Rabastan had kissed her earlier and she would not desire his older brother, his  _ married _ older brother.

It was madness to want them both. She was mad, this much she knew, and yet as she turned away from Rodolphus, focusing her attention on the mug of cinnamon milk, she felt empty. She was sick, this much she knew. Loneliness had made her greedy.

Loneliness was turning her into a deviant.  
  


* * *

  
Lucius was not alone when he arrived at dinner that evening, she was roused from the book she was reading, the account of Christienne’s marriage to another couple (a man and a woman) in LeTourmont, by Rabastan who looked like he had also fallen asleep in the chair beside her by his hair.

“Time to get out of debt,” He had said, helping her up “Lucius has arrived with Narcissa.”

The foyer was clean, burning with magic fire as Rodolphus received the other couple and Rabastan and Hermione came to greet them. The master of the house was dressed well, his hair pulled back into something manageable, he wore deep black velvet robes, a set she knew well because she often wore them on the colder days, stealing them from his closet as soon as the elves replaced them. They were lined in burgundy silk and felt luxurious and warm.

Today, Hermione wore pajama pants and a Gryffindor jersey, layered in a robe she had nicked from Rabastan a few hours after they adjourned to the sitting room, half blanket, half  _ him _ .

“Ah, Miss Granger, I want you to meet my lovely Narcissa.” Lucius said and the whole room turned towards her “She has been eager to meet you.”

“Miss Granger!” Narcissa sounded tired, she was half leaning on her husband, dressed smartly in a Chanel skirt and cardigan, her hair pulled away from her face into a chignon. “Lucius has told me much about you.”

“I have heard much about you as well, Mrs. Malfoy, but not from Lucius.”

“I have been preoccupied with cleaning up Dolph’s messes, and now I must ask you to clean up mine.” He said jovially “But first, let us go cook.”

To cook with Lucius, was a key word that Hermione quickly learned over their comings and goings meant to talk in private, but soon the kitchen was crowded with two elves, Lucius, Hermione, and Rodolphus who was sitting at the table and thumbing through the mail that Lucius brought with him (to many complaints about being demoted to owl post), watching the Malfoy begin to sift through the dirty produce that had come from some market the elves frequented.

“Why do you cook, Lucius?” She asked as he picked up some carrots and celery.

“I need something tactile.” He replied laying them out on the low counter beside her “And no one comes to servant quarters, so no one will overhear us.”

“Everyone comes to this kitchen.” Rodolphus replied “It is probably the most used room in this house.”

“Besides your bedroom,” Lucius said and handed Hermione a peeling knife.

“Not in the manner that I wish it was used.” Rodolphus shot back and broke the wax seal on a letter.

“Does she know?” Lucius asked as if she was not there and she began to peel a potato over the sink, trying to pretend like speaking of her in the third person wasn’t incredibly irritating.

“No.” She responded, a potato peel falling into the sink “No, she  _ doesn’t _ know.”

“Lucius and I were invited to another one of those gatherings in the old Black house that everyone collectively pretends no one outside of this Order knows of aside from the entire Black lineage,” Rodolphus sighed and tossed a letter onto the table, neat handwriting with a Gringotts seal. “They would like to invite you to a  _ party _ .”

“A party?” She paused the knife on the potato “What kind of party?”

“For New Years, I am required to tell you.”

She turned back to the sink, afraid to look at anyone “Am I going alone? For what reason?”

“Clever,” Lucius commented and began to cut in earnest “You have come a long way in the past few months.”

“Not alone.” Rodolphus was suddenly right behind her “Never alone.”

She could feel his fingers playing with the ends of her hair, pulling gently on her curls and making her stand up straight. His presence surrounded her and she wanted to lean into him for comfort. She denied herself. “I will be with you.”

“I don’t know what they will do to me, after all I stabbed Percy.” She said and handed Lucius the peeled potato that he began to dice “I don’t even understand why I did it. He just was so vicious towards me.”

“Some people in this world think that the only way to get power is to take it by force. Percy Weasley is one of those miserable middle-management types that need to  _ take _ so that he can feel something more than miserable.” Lucius said next to her “He did not file charges against you.”

“It was self-defense,” She said as another peel fell into the sink. “But I could have asked him to stop.”

“Would he listen?” Rodolphus said turning on the tap and beginning to wash the next vegetable, a radish.

The three of them worked in silence for awhile, enjoying the domesticity before Lucius finally spoke up “I will call you on your favor tonight, both of you.”

“You don’t have to call me on anything, I will help you.” Hermione said handing over the last cleaned and peeled vegetable for the pie that they were cooking. “I know what it’s like, to be trapped.”

Lucius handed her something in return, a small silk scarf with horses around the border. “Do you know how to make a portkey, Miss Granger?”

“She’s a fast learner.”

To make a portkey, an unregistered one, was so deceptively simple she wasn’t sure why more people didn’t do it. As she memorized the wand movements she was educated by Rodolphus the laws against making one and why, but it only took her five to ten minutes to memorize the spell and five to ten minutes to understand that the risk of getting caught was minimal, and when she finally looked at the scarf she turned to Lucius 

“When?”

“Boxing Day, eleven thirty.”

She focused on the time, and began to draw the complicated rune with her wand conducting the invisible orchestra of magic that began to swirl and sing, whistling in the air, and she realized that she was hearing the energy now, bend and creak through her wand before it finally silenced.

The scarf glowed. She shifted uncomfortably, realizing that she had broken a law. How could something so simple break any laws? She looked up at Rodolphus who seemed blase about the law thing and just handed the scarf to Lucius. “Can we eat now?”

“Your debt has been paid.” Lucius said, stuffing it into his pocket.

“A strange thank you,” She replied and left, uncomfortable not with creating a portkey, but with his kindness, and her ease of breaking laws.

Narcissa was half asleep at the dinner table, and she took a look at the pureblood matriarch who was more glamours than human and Hermione sat beside her in the large empty dining hall. The portraits were still covered, and the candlelight was the only light in the room, parts of the room were too dark for any of them to see, oppressive in it’s intimacy. The two women sat in the darkness of the room and Hermione listened to the other woman’s breathing for a while, not sure what to say, understanding on some fundamental level that they were the same. Prisoners of men that they did not know, prisoners for men they did.

“Draco speaks of you.” Narcissa finally said, turning to look at her. “He said you are a bright witch.”

“In some things.”

“I understand why Rodolphus covets you so.” She said, and then a breath later “He desires to kill my sister, he has asked me for my blessing.”

It was Hermione’s turn to look away from Narcissa’s piercing eyes, blue to the point of seeming fake, which, looking at the rest of her, could possibly be true. She knew why Rodolphus felt that way. Bellatrix was coming after Rabastan, and Rodolphus was always protective over his younger brother.

“I don’t sleep,” Narcissa admitted “I cannot sleep in my own home, because I know that my sister will kill me, or my son, or the Dark Lord, or the Ministry.” Despite her fears, nothing akin to fright passed her features, she was serene, as if death had come for her already and she was talking about things that had come to pass. “The problem with being Narcissa Malfoy is that you’re married to Lucius Malfoy, and to control him, people would do anything.”

“Where is Draco now?” She hated herself for being concerned about her former rival, but it seemed trivial here.

“With Severus, for now, at school” The Malfoy Matriarch said “He is unable to leave.”

“And your sister?”

“Romania, supposedly, on a mission from our Lord.”

“Mrs. Malfoy, Rodolphus has some rooms open upstairs, if you would like to sleep without being disturbed.” Hermione offered “It is not a nice house, but it is comfortable.”

“It’s the magic in the house, it comforts you, but to me it is strange, like polyester.” Narcissa looked at her, finally seeing the girl beside her. She turned to study the most perfect witch in Wizarding England and the glamors flickered in and out like bad television signal and she took a glimpse of not perfect Narcissa Malfoy, but the same Malfoy that she saw in Lucius every so often: defeated, burdened, lonely.

She heard voices just outside the door to the dining room and knew that the men would be in soon. “You should hear the way he speaks of you when you are not around.” Narcissa murmured “Perhaps he’s going through some mid-life crisis.”

Hermione felt sick. Did Rodolphus insult her when she was not with him? She knew he was just playing her. She should have been more vigilant around him. “Why?”

“You are certainly not a goddess I would easily worship,” Narcissa picked up a glass of red wine “Not in those robes.”

She flushed under the insult and was about to respond, but Narcissa said one more thing between them, into the wine glass so it came out hollow.

"I gave it to him, of course."

She needed no explanation for what, before she could ask, there was laughter just outside the door.

Lucius and Rodolphus came in with a gigantic pot pie that was floating just a bit in front of them, and a half empty bottle of firewhiskey along with two glasses.

Rabastan came after a parade of elves and food, and sat down across from her, his eyes alight with mischief. “Hermione, would you like to try firewhiskey?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa is my self insert.
> 
> First kiss! First kiss!
> 
> Soon I'll be earning that Mature rating.


	13. Chapter 13

Somewhere after three rounds of “trying” firewhiskey and two rounds of arguing with Lucius  _ fucking _ Malfoy (which became his name after the second time she tried an entire glass of firewhiskey) she was curled up neatly on Rodolphus’ lap, dozing with her head on his shoulder. He was holding her against him. One hand on her head because somewhere between three and  _ post-three _ she got irritated with Rodolphus and started to hit him, calling him the devil and that she hated his stupid jawline and his stupid pretty face.

She heard something move in the room and she shifted, her head pounding. Her eyes opened and all she could see was darkness. The creak of floorboards as the house began to sound its alarm that there was something moving within it. The dull hum of magic turned into an urgent whine, like the whistle of wind through a gap in the wood. She shifted again but Rodolphus held onto her, his hand cupping the back of her head as his face turned so that his lips were near her ear.

“I know,” He whispered and it went straight down the base of her spine turning from fear to arousal quickly and she wished her body wasn’t so traitorous. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to will her morality to keep her feelings away.

Rabastan was awake beside her and he moved quickly, divesting himself of his robe and slinking off the couch with the grace of a cat, his steps made no sound as he moved across the room, and she shifted slightly so that she could catch his shadow move towards the door.

The door opened and shut and they were left alone, Lucius asleep in a chair near the last embers of the fire, Narcissa had retired to her room earlier. She listened to Rodolphus’ breathing as he held her, soft snores from the other side of her where Lucius lay, and quick breathing from Rabastan beside them.

Post-Firewhiskey Hermione hated Three-Firewhiskey Hermione. She tried to move away from him, ashamed of how she had thought it appropriate to sit on his lap and  _ try _ his firewhiskey. God, she wanted to melt into the ground.

“Are you afraid?” He murmured

“No.” She said shifting to move off his lap, but he held her tightly.

He inhaled her scent before speaking again, the darkness was oppressive, she could hear the wards changing as another magical signature moved within it. “Firewhiskey agrees with you.”

He kissed the shell of her ear and her whole body responded, her toes curled in her socks and her mouth opened slightly, the moan getting caught in her throat. In the darkness no one would know what she did with him, she could take his kisses, she could take  _ all of him _ .

She would know, the guilt would consume her. She couldn’t betray his brother. “I can’t. Rab-”

“I thought you understood what it meant to be in the care of the  _ house _ of LeStrange.” His fingers tangled into her hair, but he did not kiss her again, only shifted so that they were cheek to cheek.

“You’re married.” She said it out loud the last barrier of her morality and it tasted like bile on her tongue. She felt frustrated by her attraction to him, her attraction to his brother, the way she had to push them away from her.

They would leave her now, both of them. She knew somehow, by the way he said  _ the house _ that the brothers were a packaged deal. Tears stung her eyes and she tried to get away from him.

“I will tear the world apart, and put it back together for you. Patience, my Hermione.” He soothed.

Rabastan came back a bit later looking a bit confused as he sat down next to the two of them, the only light of the room was the orange glow of the fire they faced. “There is no one here.”

“The wards-”

“I know.” Rabastan looked at her and she flushed, realizing what a compromising position she was in, but the younger brother said nothing about her “It’s just like a few months ago.” He shook his head and stared at the fire for a moment.

“I’ll check them again, I didn’t see anything when this happened last time.”

“What?” Hemione shifted to sit back, her head throbbing painfully and she put her fingers to her temple to try and stave off the marching band that was currently making its way around her skull.

“The wards have been fluctuating strangely since you arrived here. The old wards.” Rabastan explained and handed her something in the darkness, she accepted it automatically, it was a glass of water. “Magic keeps ripping through the halls. I keep chasing ghosts.”

“We all have.” She said, remembering how many times she was caught running after nothing.

The three of them sat in the silence of the room, listening to Lucius’ even breathing on the chair and waiting for something. At first, Hermione thought it was the dangerous fluctuations in the wardings, but she knew it was something different, a tension that needed to be resolved between the three of them.

A tension that was about to snap.  
  


* * *

  
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was old, wise, and deceptive. He wore gaudy purple robes that clashed with just about everything in the manor, trying to exhibit as much of his “dotty, lovable old man persona” as he could. She knew better, these were the same robes that he wore when he blackmailed the two men who were now sitting with her.

Lucius was drinking tea and sitting in the chair he had slept in two nights prior. He was watching the old Headmaster not as a man but as a politician. Lucius did not look the like Lucius she knew, he used the same glamours his wife had, his hair which was dull, now had a lustrous shine that belonged in shampoo adverts, and he held himself with the same poise he had advised her on just before the Headmaster arrived.

The Malfoy  _ poise _ looked a bit forced on her, she was sure everyone could tell. The Headmaster studied her and she knew about his tricks now, her eyes fell to the table between them, the nice China, three elves just out of view, also dressed nicely.

“Miss Granger,” The Headmaster finally addressed and Hermione looked not at him, but at Professor Snape who was standing beside him. She wondered what bound him to the Headmaster.

Could she break those bonds?

“Miss Granger.” The Headmaster demanded her attention and her eyes fell onto her judge, jury, and executioner.

“Yes.” She avoided his eyes, staring at his mouth. He would not get into her mind like he had Harry.

“We have missed you at Hogwarts this year, but your final year was better spent in service to the greater good. The Order, and Wizarding Britain will remember your accomplishments here, more than your possible NEWT scores.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. A lie that the two of them shared, and a lie that she let hang in the room. “Thank you Headmaster.”

“I know that Severus has spoken highly of your achievements here, as has Mister LeStrange, despite having some troubles with another member.” The Headmaster continued “And we are here today to discuss that member, and your other handlers.”

She did not respond, but she felt the murderer shift next to her and she leaned slightly towards him for some kind of strength. He offered it willingly “He cursed her.”

“Mister LeStrange, we have heard your side of this story, and we are here for Miss Granger’s account.” Dumbledore’s voice was steel.

“He cursed me.” She reiterated what he said “Twice. Once a stinging hex of his own design, and the second, I am not sure, I was burning.”

Lucius hummed in a thoughtful way, a practiced way. “This curse sounds familiar, was this not outlawed for law enforcement use during the first war to the deaths that are caused at the hands of that very auror?”

There was an uncomfortable pause at this news and Hermione looked over at Lucius. This was planned. This whole confrontation was planned. The Headmaster cleared his throat “We are here for Miss Granger’s account, not her barrister’s.”

She didn’t remember hiring Lucius Malfoy as a barrister of any kind and nor was she sure he was working as one. Lucius Malfoy worked for one person in this world and that was himself. However, her goals, and his goals were the same. She continued to add fuel to the fire. Moody was not a hero. “After he cursed me, he told me that I needed to “get out of his way” and I will take veritaserum to testify for Mister LeStrange.”

“Miss Granger, we would like to check you for coercion spells.” Professor Snape said “It has been raised as a possibility by other Order members that you may be under the influence of the LeStrange family.”

She was, of course, under the influence of the two men who she wanted nothing more than to desire her. She stood up in the dusty sitting room, spreading her hands open to show she was unarmed. “You can check, Professor.”

She briefly glowed orange, which seemed to indicate that no spells were present and she looked at Lucius who was suddenly sitting a bit straighter in his chair. “That mad auror clearly was using Miss Granger as a weapon to punish me, as evidence by his repeated break in’s  _ alone _ to harass her.”

“Miss Granger is a student at Hogwarts, is this what all parents have to look forward to in their final year at Hogwarts, being harassed by the aurory? How do we know that in the year he was Professor at your school he did not set his  _ designs _ on other students.” Lucius’ voice was smooth as butter, danger laced in every syllable. “I will have to tell the board, of course Albus, how muggleborns are being treated in their  _ special _ gap years.”

The Headmaster’s eyes flashed and his mouth settled into a firm line. “Miss Granger is not a student at Hogwarts and therefore is not subject to the  _ purview _ of your board Mister Malfoy. However, I must remind you that your son is currently enrolled and residing at Hogwarts.” The Headmaster replied to Lucius and stood up, clearly finished with any semblance of a conversation they might be having.

On some level she knew that she was no longer a Hogwarts student, but on most levels Hermione considered herself a student in exile. To hear the truth was like a bucket of cold water. She was gutted, her entire identity was gone, she was a school dropout now. Forcefully expelled for  _ dissension _ in a secret club that the Headmaster ran. She turned away from Dumbledore, trying not to cry because it was stupid to care about school when there was a war, but now she was not a Gryffindor, not a know it all, not a star student. Nothing but a prisoner in France.

She tried to hold it in, but tears escaped anyways. The magic of the house began to buzz excitedly and she bit her lip and closed her eyes. This was stupid, she wasn’t going to cry in front of everyone over being expelled from school. She didn’t need school, she’d just become a muggle or something.

“If she is no longer a student, then you have no business here.” Rodolphus’ voice was sharp, standing up as well. “I’ll see you out,  _ Headmaster _ .”

“Miss Granger, just because you are not a student any longer does not make your role in this war any less critical. Mister Potter and Mister Weasley are excited to see you for the New Years. We all are. We make great sacrifices, but not without great rewards.”

God she felt pathetic, longing to return to England warred with her pride. The words were hard to force, her tone even: “I understand.” She said, unwilling to open her eyes and look at anyone.

“Merry Christmas, Headmaster.” Rodolphus sounded like he was on the tip of rage “We will see you at New Years.”

Hermione left the room first, angry, upset, and embarrassed. She was a dropout now, forcefully expelled because of her stupid idea to take Harry horcrux hunting. 

She could hear Rodolphus in the foyer as she walked down the hall towards the kitchens: “If you ever show your sorry self in my house again Severus, I will kill you. How dare you bring that sociopath to my house, to my Hermione!”

“She had to hear-”  
  
Hermione banged on the door to the kitchens to open it, cutting off the rest of the sentence.  Rabastan was sitting at the low table and stood as she entered, her face hidden in her hands.

“I’ve been expelled.” Her breath was shaky, the tears were barely contained. 

“Hermione.” He placated.

She sobbed as Rabastan pulled her towards him, hushing her like a father to a child “I’ve been expelled!”

She was nothing anymore.  
  


* * *

  
Lucius stayed in the house for a few hours more, she knew he was in the hall but no one was allowed into the bedroom suite with her and Rabastan. She laid on top of the covers and stared at the ceiling. 

“Have I been expelled this whole time?” She said sullenly to the younger brother who was reading a book while she experienced her existential crisis. 

“You were not expelled,” He sighed for the third time, closing the book “You did not enroll in your seventh year, it was rejected.”

“So I was rejected from a school that literally takes everyone in the country?”

“You were rejected because you were  _ out _ of the country.” He said and turned to her “Ma petit chou, this is not the end. You have not been expelled, and if you want to get back to Hogwarts, you can return. We will just open a house in England for you to live. If you want to take your exams in France, we will finance it. The LeStrange family has no shortage of money, and you have no shortage of options.”

“Why? You don’t owe anything to me now.”

“We owe quite a lot to you.” He said, acting as if her claims were ridiculous “No one else thought that to get out of the Ministry’s tracking charms to just create a new wand. This isn’t the end.” He emphasized again “No need to lay in bed on Christmas over it.”

“I was going to be head girl.” She bemoaned her face covered by her hands “I was going to get an internship with the Ministry.” She heard a knock on the door and it opened to reveal a bright eyed Rodolphus followed by Lucius who was covered in snow and sheepishly trying to dust the powder off of his robes.

“Duelling practice?” He asked, breathless.

Rabastan pushed her out of bed with his leg and she glared at him “Come, let’s fix your form.”

The snow was blinding as the four of them walked out past the garden and onto the back lawn, it crunched beneath her feet and she felt the warming charm that Rodolphus cast wrap around her like a blanket.

“Duelling is about mimicking the ebb and flow of magic, it is a dance. Today we will make the music for your dance. Wards will tell you the magic within them, to warn the bloodline of attack.” Rabastan explained drawing a circle with his wand tip in the ground “If you know the location of your duel, it is a smart idea to start each battle by erecting wards not only to protect you, but to alert you.”

“It is common to start duels by erecting wards, and your first attacks should be aimed at destroying any that your opponent has made. This is the job of a curse breaker.” Lucius said and suddenly a dome of light appeared around them and she heard the whine of magic as it attuned itself to the occupants. “Curse breaking is  _ persuasion _ . You must use your magic to persuade the wards to turn against their caster, or drop.”

“Your convergence is close to Rabastan, see if you can convince the magic that it is yours.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione said moving towards the wall of light, shimmering like glitter suspended in air “How can I convince something that cannot think?”

“Isn’t this school in your oversight, Lucius?” Rodolphus sounded annoyed.

“I am sorry.” She snapped “I didn’t realize magic could think.”

Rabastan edged her towards the ward, his hands around her waist and she touched the shimmering light only to feel the familiar electricity of Rabastna’s magic. “Man has harnessed fire, you have harnessed your magic, now mine.” 

“I can’t, it’s just  _ magic. _ ”

“Whose magic?”

“Yours.”

“ _ Yours _ , relegate its energy to you.” Rabastan insisted in her ear “Meter out its power into a spell with your wand.”

Frustrated with how stupid this all sounded to her, and how insane she felt for trying it. She pointed her wand at the ground  _ “Wingardium Leviosa _ .”

Like a current, new magic, not her own traveled from one hand to the other, a clump of snow began to raise itself. The wards under her fingertip briefly blinked in and out of existence and shuddered as she withdrew the magic from it.

“There, you’ve redirected the energy into something else.” Lucius said pleased “Curse breaking is similar, but unless you have convergence, you cannot use the magic that was cast, so you must cancel it out.”

Purple walls shimmered into existence “We don’t have convergence, touch the magic.” Lucius commanded. 

The wards had no electricity, it felt solid, like stone beneath her hands. She couldn’t feel any energy. “There’s nothing.”

“I am opposite. We have little convergence” Lucius said, bored “You cannot redirect the energy, but you can change it. Feed it your energy until you can feel it start to buzz underneath your hand and then dissolve it, banish them both.”

“Is there a spell?”

“Spells are crutches, this is pure magic.” Lucius waved her off “Trust the feeling, not the words. Your magic has will, not a mind.”

She fed the purple wards, trying to focus on the warmth in her hands and pushing it outwards, focusing a flow of energy out of her hands, and the stone began to respond, vibrating excitedly, until it reminded her of the static of Rabastan’s magic and began to wish for her magic to return, and suddenly there was a  _ snap _ .

She opened her eyes and saw that the wards were glowing inexhaustibly bright orange, like a wall of fire before her. “Too much.” Rabastan said and suddenly the wards were gone “Let’s try again.”

“How is this related to dueling?” She said flushing at her failure.

“Simply put you can redirect spells, or redirect people’s magic before they even manage to cast spells. When you can interact with  _ pure _ magic, you are not fighting with wands but fighting with  _ magic _ .” Rodolphus said “This is true dueling, not a gentlemen's duel like in England.”

“You fight with a wand.” She said looking up at him, he was striking against the rolling white hills, and blue sky of a winter’s afternoon.

“To access magic is illegal without a wand.” He said, shoving his in his pocket and beginning to run his hands along the purple walls that were Lucius’ wards, they began to pulsate with her heartbeat “The Ministry cannot track anything you do with magic without that stick. It’s probably why they don’t teach you convergence, if you learn that magic has nothing to do with wands, then you won’t use them anymore.”

The purple wards began to warm up into a bright red “To cast wandless magic, it will cost you fifteen years in Azkaban, and Rabastan’s magic is now bound to  _ sticks _ for another two years afterwards as probation. A curse we have yet to break.”

She was incensed that the Ministry of Magic thought it could bind anyone’s magic for any reason. “Why so long?” She asked, watching the wards shudder and flicker as they were pushed from one caster to another.

“Pure magic, the  _ old _ magic that my family believes in, is far more powerful than anything you can do with a wand, and far more dangerous. We are not talking about wards anymore, surely you understand.”

“To control someone’s magic. You could steal it.” She suddenly felt cold. “Or turn it on them.”

“Now you know why your Lord wants Lucius and I.” Rodolphus said as the wards shimmered into nothing “At least, this is what Lucius thinks.”

“He hasn’t asked for money, yet.” Lucius seemed annoyed that this hadn’t come to pass for some unknown reason “What else is there?”

She thought she would regret these words, but she said them anyways: “Teach me. I want to learn.”

Rabastan erected another shimmering white dome, and kissed her on the top of her head “Take down these wards, ma petit chou. Then we’ll move onto curses.”


	14. Chapter 14

She stepped away from the house with Rodolphus, the two of them staring at a very concerned looking Rabastan. “When will you be back?”

“Tomorrow morning, at the latest.” Rodolphus assured “It’s just a party, Lucius will be there to undo the magic that binds us to The Order and we are done with this interlude.”

“So, there's an ulterior motive for joining me for this New Year’s party.”

“I would not have you go at all, if it was up to me.” Rodolphus ho-hummed clearly annoyed that they were leaving his brother.

Rabastan walked down the snow covered steps, his velvet robes dragged the fresh powder with him as he met her. “Stay safe.” He cautioned her, fixing her robes, and picking snow out of her hair

“Rodolphus will be with me.” She said, blushing.

“But I will not.” Rabastan kissed her on the top of her head, and then her forehead. “Stay safe, mon petit chou. We will continue where we left off.”

Her whole body burned at the implication, she knew he probably meant duelling, but a part of her, the part that warmed up under the touch of the younger brother, and the way his hair tickled her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her nose.

She realized she was leaning towards Rabastan only after he stepped away, embarrassed to be so desperate for him, for both of them. And yet even as her face was hot, her heart beating against her ribcage in the cold late afternoon of New Years Eve, Rodolphus held her hand as she said her quiet goodbyes to his younger brother. The three of them basked in a moment of silence, unwilling to acknowledge the tension, and finally, with a  _ crack _ they apparated to London.

Apparition made her feel ill and Rodolphus held her steady for a moment as she took stock of everything. Her feet were on the ground, and nothing was missing. 

“Do you need a moment?” He asked quietly, his arms strong around her.

She wanted a moment, but she shook her head, knowing that she didn’t need any more temptation from him. He smelled like cinnamon and  _ home _ . The door opened.

“Late,” Professor Snape said to the two of them and she tried to pull away from the older man but he held her tight.

“You’re lucky we’re here at all.” Rodolphus snapped, letting go of her with some reluctance and she looked up at her severe professor.

“Lucius has been asking for you.” He ignored the comment and stepped aside for the two of them to enter.

Grimmauld place was her home for two summers gone, and yet she felt like she was a stranger here. The fatigue from the apparition made her footsteps heavy on the worn and shoddy carpet. She recognized the floral patterns underneath her feet and knew that there was a matching set in Le Tourmont. The portrait was silent and uncovered, observing the two of them.

“Walburga.” Rodolphus said.

“Master LeStrange,” The portrait returned, acknowledging his blood status and not her at all. “And creature.”

“I am sure that they would not mind if I told them the spell to melt your portrait.” His voice was smooth, the threat was not.

She left the frame as Hermione heard voices from the dining room off to her left, the din of party chatter. Panic set in as she realized that she would have to face The Order, knowing what she had done to Percy, and to Moody. Her sins felt exposed and she shied away from the noise.

“Two options,” He said next to her quietly, afraid of being overheard “You go into that room, or you come with me to find out whatever bottle of firewhiskey Lucius is in.”

“I have to go into that room,” She sounded resigned. “There is no choice.”

“I will fetch you in one hour, it is nine now.” He said and leaned down so they were face to face. His eyes held that flicker of mischief that she found so alluring. “If I do not return, find me.”

She wished Rabastan was here, but nodded “It’s just my friends, I am sure they will be happy to see me.

In the huge dining room, which was filled by many Order members she had never seen, there was a huge feast at the table and she could smell the cooking of Molly Weasley sticking to the air, heavy and rich, and all she could remember is Percy’s breath on her neck as he held her. Professor Lupin caught her first, his eyes moving towards the door as she stepped in, and then ducking his head down. Coward, she thought bitterly, remembering all the disgusting things Moody had said to her.

“‘Mione!” It was Harry who spotted her next, slamming down his half drank butterbeer and getting up from the table next to a very cozy Ginny Weasley. “You made it! I asked Dumbledore to let you come back from your special assignment for New Years. Let me get you a beer.”

“No need,” She gave a false smile, checking him over and seeing nothing out of sorts, while so much had changed for her, little had changed of Harry, and before she could finish her mental checks, Harry enveloped her in a hug.

“We missed you so much ‘Mione.” His breath smelled like butterbeer, his words were slightly slurred.

She wanted this hug to be more than it was, some kind of herald that she was  _ home _ back where she belonged in England with the people that really mattered but it felt like getting a hug from a stranger. Maybe because she blamed everyone in this room for shunting her off to the coast of France, or letting her stay there in that house alone while they kept sending more and more aurors on their own secret mission. Maybe she blamed them for regurgitating the lies that Dumbledore said, but she kept all these maybes to herself and returned the hug.

Maybe it was the way she looked up and saw Dumbledore’s eyes on her, and the way that she quickly looked away to prevent him from peering into her mind. She felt like a fox in the hen house and that everyone would know about it soon. The deception was tiring.

“Come, let’s go somewhere more private.” Harry interrupted her thoughts and nudged Ron who was still stuffing his face and did not say hello, and the four of them: Ron, Harry, Ginny, and herself, snuck away from the New Years Eve Party, up the stairs, past the portrait, and into the dingy Grimmauld Place library.

They sat around the fire, Hermione nursed a pumpkin juice and waited for the questions, but for a few moments there was silence as Ginny watched her with thinly veiled disdain.

She spoke first “You stabbed my brother.”

“Yes.” Hermione replied, unwilling to say more.

“Perce is a right prat Gin,” Ron spoke up on her defense “He was interfering with your mission, that’s what Dumbledore said.”

“What  _ is _ your mission?” Harry pressed “After we tried to leave, I know that Dumbledore said that he was going to help us contribute more to The Order, Ron and I have been sworn in, but-”

“He won’t say anything about you, won’t even mention it to us.” Ron grumbled and took another swig of his beer “Lupin said he visited you once but-”

“Lupin came back with my brother covered in his own blood.” Ginny interjected.

Lupin wasn’t even there that night. She wondered if it had something to do with Tonks. The aurory clearly were running their own show. 

“It is nothing interesting,” She hedged “I am just doing a research project in an ancient library in Europe. Professor Snape comes every few weeks to ask for progress.”

“On what?” Harry pressed “We’re Order members, you can tell us.”

A lot of thoughts went through her head at that moment, the predominant one being that she should tell Harry and Ron  _ exactly _ what a sham the Order was, and that Dumbledore was blackmailing various members as his  _ inner circle _ was running around and doing anything they pleased as long as they weren’t caught.

There was a buzzing of unfamiliar, strong magic, an angry hive of bees in her ear. Her head snapped up to the door and she saw someone pass by it, in bright blue robes. There was nowhere in the house that was safe from the purview of the Headmaster and so she kept her mouth shut.

“I am bound by oath to reveal to no one, I’m sorry guys. I am trying to help all that I can,  _ where _ I am.”

“Percy said you are with LeStrange.” Ginny said after a beat “He said that they killed Moody.”

“Professor Moody cursed me.” She replied to the redhead and realised by her questions that there was an enemy in the room. “He cursed me on several occasions because he could.”

“But you’re with that Death Eater?” Ron asked, the last words spoken in a whisper.

“They are bound to The Order, just like you.” Hermione sighed “I am just using their library.”

“He tortured Neville’s parents.” Ginny said and pulled Harry away from Hermione, her arms lacing around one of his so she could claim ownership “They’re evil.”

Rodolphus and Rabastan were, of course, evil. They often gave her too much to eat, too much firewhiskey, and too much comfort. They were evil when they picked her up from the hospital in Belle-Dunne, or covered up a murder on their lawn. They were evil when they read books lazily in cold afternoons together, or slept by the fire and waited for the aurory to come attack them.

“I know what they’ve done.”

She also knew what she had done in the past month, a litany of illegal curses, unforgivables, and forbidden magic. She sat before them now, a stranger.

“Then you should stay away from them, I want you to be safe, ‘mione.” Harry pleaded “You know how much we love you.”

Ginny’s grip on Harry tightened and suddenly the accusations from Ginny clicked. It was not out of love for Percy, but jealousy of love for Harry.

“Tell me about school.” Hermione changed the subject “I feel like I have missed so much.”

“Luna is gone,” Harry sounded wistful “She didn’t return. Same as you. She’s not part of the Order, is she? And Malfoy is being  _ quiet _ . I think he’s up to something.”

The rest of the hour passed in much the same manner, Harry had a thousand conspiracy theories about Draco Malfoy, and she knew close to none of them were true. Draco was most likely waiting to be saved by his father from the Headmaster that was keeping him from his parents. Harry briefly mentioned the horcruxes and talked about the private lessons the Headmaster was giving him.

“He shows me memories he has of the Dark Lord, and his own memories of when he was younger.” Harry said, scrunching his face up as he realized the beer bottle was empty again “I feel like there is something missing there, with his sister Ariana.”

“Miss Granger,” It was her potion's professor, he stood in the doorway, a shadow “Your presence is required.”

“Coming!” She said getting up. “I will be back after this.”

“I don’t understand, don’t you get a day off?” Ron complained, grabbing her wrist as she passed him, she felt sick at his touch. It reminded her of Percy “I wanted to spend time with you.”

“After.” She shook she hand free of Ron’s grasp and followed her Professor out.

“Enjoying your time?” Her Professor drawled as they walked down the hall from the library.

“Immensely.” She replied, sarcasm dripping off of each syllable.

He stopped at a door. “Go in.”

She stepped into a small study that had maps of England plastered to the walls, and papers everywhere. Rodolphus was currently flipping through a folder and Lucius was reading something on the desk.

“It’s ten,” Rodolphus said, flipping through another folder. “We have to find these contracts.”

Something else caught her eye, it was the outer ring of a star gauge hidden beneath a few papers. She recognized the inscription of the constellations. She pulled it out from where it was nestled and stared at the bronze. “Why is this here?”

Lucius handed her a scrap of parchment “Because of this.”

Spread out across the desk were various parchments of arithmancy, and star charts, a few pages on palmistry. She recognized the arithmancy immediately as trying to determine outcomes and dates in the future, a type of arithmancy that she thought was nigh on divination. Lucius was poring over a book that was dog eared and marked up. Even upside down she saw it spinning on the page, a model of the Star Gauge, _her_ Star Gauge.  
“The Star Gauge owned by Corvus LeStrange, has the ability to predict auspicious dates up to six months in the future,” Lucius read, his finger beneath the line that was underlined in glittering red ink. “Powered by _purity_ and can be controlled by fate.”

She looked down at the parchment and there was a short list of names of girls in her year, but only two names stood out.  _ Luna Lovegood - Candidate?  _ And her own, hastily written.  _ Hermione Granger - Virgin _ .

“Now we know your mission.” Lucius murmured and pulled another paper out “Now we know The Order’s mission.”

She couldn’t even speak, anger, embarrassment. How did they know? How could they have tested for something like this?

“To control the future via crackpot divination?” Rodolphus murmured. “The Star Gauge only looks for celestial alignment, fate cannot be controlled.”

“This is madness.” Hermione breathed “Why is this here? How do they know...something so personal?”

Rodolphus lifted up a pair of parchments. “How many people can they blackmail in one year?  _ Merlin _ .”

“Burn them.” Lucius said, pulling out another parchment and looking up towards the door. “The binding magic is weak. Someone was confident we would not find this.” 

She heard it too now, the whine of magic far more powerful, far more charged than her own. Lucius stepped outside of the room, shutting the door behind them, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

She watched them burn up in Rodolphus’ fingers, the paper curling and blackening, the flames burning blue and green as the magic was dispersed into the room. The fire reflected in his eyes and she knew there was madness there, and yet she was still oddly attracted the older brother, his magical power was enticing, and the way he dueled was borderline erotic. 

He banished the ashes and looked at her anew, and she knew that within those papers was the promise to not harm her. A flash of anxiety seared through her but he came around the desk towards her and grabbed the paper in her hands, it went up quicker than the contracts, first it was paper and then it was ash on the floor, consumed by fire in the blink of an eye.

“No longer bound to your lord,” He said, his voice was raw, and it excited her and it scared her. “No longer bound by this Order.”

Danger was here.

He kissed her, it was not sweet and tantalizing in the same way that Rabastan’s had been, it was passionate, their lips bruised as he cupped her face between his hands. She couldn’t resist anymore, she didn’t want to. She wanted to possess him, his power, his madness. She wanted to bind him to her. A moan was muffled as their tongues met and he pressed her up against the wall of this cramped office. He tasted like whiskey and cinnamon, her whole body responding to his attentions, trying to touch as much of her against him.

“Rodolphus,” She begged as their lips parted, a whisper on her lips. It was wrong, he was married, he was  _ not _ for her.

His hands went down to her throat, surrounding her and she feared he would strangle her, but instead his thumbs tilted her head up so that their eyes met. “I will claim you for my house, Hermione.”

She never had wanted something more in her life. She ached in ways that she had never felt before, her legs spreading a little wider to give him access, embarrassed at her own behavior. 

“Your magic was made for us. Siren.” He said against her lips “I’ll destroy myself twenty times over for you.”

Her entire being was filled with him, her mind was clouded with thoughts of him. His passion was stronger than any drug, and he kissed her again, gentle now, fearful of something, even as his hands were around her throat he hesitated. His wild curls tickled her skin, she could feel his five o’clock shadow, rough against her lips as he consumed her.

“Goddess.”

How long had she denied herself this man?

“Yours.” She agreed, it had always been that way, since they first met, since they first parted.

The insistent magical whine got louder and she paused, her breath heavy. “Headmaster.” She could hear her Professor on the other side of the door.

“Severus.”

“I find the Order’s hospitality lacking, as there is no more firewhiskey.” Lucius’ had a bit of slur to his tone near the end. What a terrible actor.

“Let me show you, Mister Malfoy, what our hospitality is like.” The Headmaster replied and she could hear footsteps retreating. 

Rodolphus smiled against her lips. “Come, we have a party to attend.”

The party continued and they rejoined everyone who was now milling around a large sitting room, music cutting in and out from a small radio as Harry and Ron chatted with her, but her mind was elsewhere. 

Every so often she would look up from her cheap glass of champagne which tasted bitter and dry to see that Ginny wasn’t the only person who had eyes for Harry. Every so often she would look up to see Dumbledore looking at Harry the same way Rodolphus looked at her: adulation.

Interesting.

“Hey!” A loud voice above the music “What is  _ she _ doing here?” 

“Now, Percy,” Molly Weasley placated “She is here as a guest of Harry’s.”

“I joined this group because Dad said it would be  _ better _ to make Ministry connections, and all I can see is-”

“Trash, Mister Weasley?” It was Lucius who spoke up for her.

Percy, who was crowded by his parents, and taking off his Ministry robes suddenly snapped his mouth shut in the presence of Lucius Malfoy. 

“Mister Malfoy, I didn’t see you there.” Percy seemed cowed by the stronger bureaucrat. 

“I am often overlooked.” Lucius drawled, annoyed.

“I am not going to be here while she is here.” Percy said and Molly Weasley tsk’d him.

“No one invited you Percy!” Ron said, drunk beside her.

Fred and George snickered and she took a look at Rodolphus who seemed edgy, his hand on his wand, but the music picked up on the radio, and the clock edged closer to midnight and Percy, scared of the great Lucius Malfoy who was busy sneering at either the firewhiskey or the forced company, she wasn’t sure.

It was easy to pretend that this was just _normal_. She mulled over the thought, tipping the empty champagne glass into her mouth, catching the few drops of bitter liquid with her tongue and wishing there was more. It was easy to pretend that she was back at Hogwarts with her friends and living out the last year of her life under the shadow of the Dark Lord, and trying to get her NEWT scores. It was easy to tune out the Quidditch talk and listen to the din of the conversation around her and pretend that this was just another New Years Eve Party.

However much she wanted to pretend the truth was far more complicated. She was engaged in some sort of entanglement with the most feared Death Eaters, and she had been expelled from Hogwarts. The war was looming and she was starting to worry that Dumbledore’s reliance on the prophecy was the tip of the iceberg for his passion of Divination. The room that they were in earlier was his study, no doubt, and was littered with pseudo-magic, the kind that Luna found intriguing and most scholars found to be crack.

“‘Mione!” Ron shouted in her ear, barely audible over the rock music that was blaring from a speaker near them, his breath smelled like firewhiskey and mashed potatoes.

“What?” She said reeling back from him, her ear ringing.

“More Champagne! Go get it!” He shouted again and shoved the empty bottle at her, oblivious to how loud he was being. “For midnight!”

“Merlin! Fine.” She grabbed the empty bottle and got off the couch where they were all crowded, cutting through the people chatting and dancing in the cramped sitting room to the kitchen that was on the far side.

The door swung shut, the kitchen dark and empty except for Kreacher who was doing the dishes slowly, muttering about  _ filth _ in his house again. She knew he meant her, they always meant her. The tiredness of cross channel apparition and the fizzy alcohol of champagne made her a bit dizzy and so she sat at the table, enjoying the muffled party noise for a minute, her ears were ringing.

She looked at the clock that was illuminated by candlelight, 11:45, and rested her head against the mouth of the bottle, trying to gather her wits before she went back in. Being away from so many people for so long, and then being thrust back into so many people at once was tiring.

“Alright there, Miss Granger?” She turned to see Remus Lupin opening a cabinet and pulling out more butterbeers, they clinked together as he set them on the counter.

“Yeah, too much champagne, and too much Ron.” She said, picking her head up and giving him a weak smile so he wouldn’t catch how little she liked him after what Moody had done at LeTourmont. How little she liked him after he was so  _ complicit _ with his accusations.

“Young mister Weasley can be a bit much for everyone.” He sat down and covered one of her hands with his. “I mean, are you  _ alright _ ?”

Her eyes narrowed at this pity “Regarding?”

“I know I am being a bit forward, but I know you Miss Granger, you’re a good sort of girl. I don’t know why they put you in LeTourmont, but after what they did to my Tonks…” He let it trail off there, his face stark in the darkness.

Professor Remus Lupin was the kind of man that was  _ kind _ . This type of kindness was just out of inaction, or pity. She couldn’t tell which, and she found herself unable to care. He was the kind of man who did the bare minimum it took to not be evil, and there was a type of bitterness in her mouth at the revelation that many of the people in the Order were just the  _ bare minimum. _

“Do you know what I mean?” He asked.

“Explain it to me, Professor Lupin.” She kept the ire out of her voice.

“It is close to the full moon,” He squeezed her hand “I can smell him on you. I know they are more powerful than you, Miss Granger, I want to help you.”

The door opened and shut again. “I saw you come in here,” Percy said “And I thought we could have a talk, ‘Mione.” The pet name of her friends sounded warped.

She got up from the table, one hand on her wand, another on the empty champagne bottle, the candlelight threw shadows around the room that moved in the flames as no one else did. “I have nothing to talk to you about, I am sorry that I had to stab you. I was cursed.”

“You thought you could make a fool of me in front of Lucius Malfoy? I won’t lose my job for  _ you _ .” 

“Now Percy,” Professor Lupin’s voice was placating but he did not move from the table “We can all have a chat about this.”

“My Dad said that this was going to be an opportunity, that there was an opening in the DMLE for the Head of Affairs and that Kingsley would guarantee it if I volunteered for this  _ little  _ group.” Percy’s voice was venomous and he approached her, his wand drawn “Lucius Malfoy and Corban Yaxley both are on the hiring board for that position, and now Lucius Malfoy has a  _ certain fondness _ for Miss Granger, who I have been told I do not have good  _ relations  _ with.” He pointed the wand inches from her. “Lucius Malfoy said it was  _ not a good move _ to have bad relations with his  _ close personal _ friends.”

She looked back at Professor Lupin who had not gotten up to defend her. Cowardly man. He bowed his head and looked at his hands, still there on the wood. 

“The only good move you’ve ever made, Percy Weasley, is to catch me unarmed.” She snapped, raising her wand. She did promise Professor Snape that she would

“Miss Granger,” Professor Lupin seemed to have gained a spine. “That’s enough.”

“I’ll give you a choice, ‘Mione, you can come with me to have a chat about that position of the DMLE, or-”

“Or  _ what _ Percy?” She let out a laugh, champagne confidence “You challenged a witch five years your junior, and I will give  _ you _ a choice. Either you turn around and walk out of this room, or you can lose your life.” 

“Hermione!” Professor Lupin got up, his chair skidding against the wood. “He’s an Order member.”

Percy, of course, played by no rules, and as she turned to retort to the spineless Professor, he cast his first curse, practically shouting it in the quiet kitchen. “ _ Expelliarmus!” _

It sung as it was cast, the magic whistling as she dodged it, casting the same. The table behind her shattered as the curse missed its mark.

A volley of curses back and forth and she heard the party finally quiet down as they heard the duel in the kitchens heat up. The candles had blown out, the only light now was a rainbow of curses: red, purple, and white. Percy’s curses kept missing, and yet hers kept getting closer and closer, she caught him with a stinging hex, and Percy’s curses kept getting more and more desperate. Three cupboards were now sliced open and Professor Lupin had disappeared. 

“ _ Sectumsempra!”  _ It caught the butterbeers behind her head and they shattered, spewing alcohol all over her, and the countertops, and finally the door burst open to reveal a very furious Rodolphus LeStrange. He towered over Percy, his eyes scanning the room and locking with hers.

Percy was slammed into the ground not by magic, but by his hands alone, his wand clattering across the floor, only stopped in a puddle of butterbeer. Rodolphus forced his head into the floor, his fingers digging into his skull, Percy's nose made a disgusting _snap_ “Explain, or I will take your life.” The older LeStrange growled, his knee in the base of Percy’s spine.

“Dumbledore will kill you, my family will.” Percy struggled to breathe. “Get off of me!”

“You seem to have a  _ thing _ for Miss Granger,” Rodolphus bent over so that his face and Percy's was obscured by his curly hair “Care to explain?”

The kitchen was starting to crowd with curious onlookers, and Molly made a wail and tried to go towards Percy but was held back by her husband. 

“He wanted me to convince Mister Malfoy to give him a job at the Ministry, he told me I had no choice.” Hermione stood up and picked the shattered glass of Butterbeer bottles out of her hair “Professor Lupin was here.”

Professor Lupin, obscured by the crowd, cleared his throat “It was true that Mister Weasley asked her to come speak with Mister Malfoy about a job there.”

Rodolphus let Percy stand, his robes covered in butterbeer, sticking to his cheap clothes underneath. “She threatened to kill me!” He retreated back towards his parents, and Molly hugged him to her breast.

“Is this true, Miss Granger?” It was Dumbledore now, watching her and she avoided his eyes.

“He tried to kill me, do you think this destruction is mine alone? He is using magic I’ve never heard of!” She protested, her eyes darting around to find supporters “I told him if he didn’t stop attacking me, he would lose his life.”

“A threat against another Order member!” Molly’s voice is shrill.

“I’m not an Order member!” Hermione replied, a bit drunk, a lot angry, and she smelled  _ disgusting _ . “I am not going to let someone kill me because he wants a better job!” 

“‘Mione,” Harry’s voice was that same simpering tone that she  _ hated _ , like she was some kind of insane woman trying to defend herself against an angry Ministry employee denied his promotion. “Let’s go somewhere quiet, I want to hear your side of this.”

She did not look at him, she did not look at anyone, but Rodolphus, who was spelling his robes clean, and then there was a warm swirl of magic and she was clean as well, the smell of butterbeer gone.

“Ready?” He asked.

She knew that he wasn’t asking a simple question. Was she ready to turn away from this life? Was she ready to quit England? The thought of forsaking everything she knew to be with the LeStranges’ seemed so simple in this moment, in this dingy old kitchen that smelled like Butterbeer and Molly Weasley’s mediocre cooking. One thing became abundantly clear in this room, with the kind of people that did the bare minimum to be good, with the kind of magic that was the bare minimum of what magic could do. This side could not win any war, they were barely playing the same game as the Death Eaters.

Dumbledore laid his hands on Harry’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear and Harry nodded, his eyes downcast. And then there was that.

“Ready.” She affirmed.

The two of them, trailed by Lucius, made their way out into the foyer, where Walburga Black stared down her nose at them, and Dumbledore followed them out.

“Mister LeStrange, Mister Malfoy.” His voice was steel and she turned to see not a jolly old man, but a warlord. “Know where your loyalties lie. Miss Granger, I will come in one week.”

“Until then, Headmaster.”

A warlord, with more enemies and less allies. The fates were not on his side, and it did not take the Star Gauge to know  _ that _ .  
  


* * *

  
It was one hour into the new year when they landed on the snow covered lawn of Le Tourmont. Hermione was pensive as she kicked a path in the snow. “Home again.” She sighed as they walked towards the towering house, glittering with lights, the door opened and she saw Rabastan holding a bottle of champagne loosely between his fingers. The sorrow of leaving her old life behind banished when the younger LeStrange smiled at her.

She realized she was still holding an empty bottle “Happy New Year!” She shouted raising the bottle in the darkness, her voice cutting through the cold. Moonlight glittered over fresh snow.

“Don’t tell me you drank that cheap swill.” Rabastan said as they approached the house, shoving a bottle of Pierre Jouet in her hand and tossing the empty bottle.

She didn’t note that she felt rejuvenated when she returned to the house. She didn’t note that the headache she had in England disappeared. She only noted the way that Rabastan picked her up and carried her across the foyer singing  _ Auld Lang Syne _ and showering her with champagne flavored kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!
> 
> I really REALLY wanted to give this chapter to you guys because of the interlude with Rodolphus and Hermione.
> 
> I am a notorious "Order basher", but in this I don't make Harry and Ron evil, just trying their best within the framework they've been given. I think this will come across just as anti-Order though, because it's frustrating, isn't it? 
> 
> I really, really cannot stand Remus Lupin, in the books, in fanfic, anywhere, because he comes across as so weak and ineffective. I am sure that's attractive to someone, somwhere.
> 
> Next chapter we will get to making some lemonade (if we are still using lemons as codewords for sex scenes).


	15. Chapter 15

Lucius, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Professor Snape, and herself all bent over the small kitchen table looking at the scraps of paper that they had collected from the Headmaster’s Study in Grimmauld Place. “A tricky bit of warding,” Lucius preened, finding some imaginary lint on his sleeve to appear somehow humble, as if it was possible for Lucius Malfoy to appear humble. “But just a bit for someone like me.”

She placed the book  _ Tales of the Beetle and The Bard _ on the table with everything else. “It’s all shit, isn’t it?” Her Professor swore and she looked up at him, her eyes wide at his language “Oh, grow up Miss Granger.”

The  _ purity _ status of girls in her grade, the star gauge, notes about  _ fate _ and prophecies collected from diviners and seers across Europe. She put her notes about the Deathly Hallows on the table as well. Alignment charts, and some arithmancy equations signed by  _ S. Vector _ to judge outcomes of conflict and celestial dates. 

“Surely there was something else in there, something more solid.” Professor Snape continued, looking at Lucius, his eyes searching for some solid groundwork that the Order could stand on.

“No,” Rodolphus shook his head, this was it. He picked up the paper of  _ purity status _ and she flushed “This is why you’re here. To power the star gauge?” 

“Ridiculous, the purity referred to in this text is  _ pure _ magic. Not virgin blood.” Rabastan scoffed. “How would that even work?”

“Can we all  _ please _ stop talking about virginity, namely  _ mine _ .”

“Oh, get over yourself, love. This isn’t second year.” Lucius said and flipped through her notes on the deathly hallows. “This is what they claim to have sent you here for?”

“More  _ shit _ .” Professor Snape spat, incensed that he had pledged his life to a man who was seemingly obsessed with divination. “The Deathly Hallows is a conspiracy theory on good days. This can’t be it. This can’t be all that he’s got planned.”

“Seems like the only shit is your judgement, Severus.” Rodolphus said with a laugh “So, how are you caught up in this? What will it take to get you out?”

There was a long pause between all the men in the room and Hermione looked at her name on a piece of parchment  _ Virgin _ . They had violated her privacy, and used her as a tool to get some pseudo-science divination _bullshit_ to work. There had to have been countless meetings where they all discussed her sexual history, or lack thereof, and other teenage girls such as herself. It felt slimy, and made her jaw clench thinking of Mad Eye Moody discussing whether a teenage girl had her hymen intact.

Her thoughts were brought back to the present by a sudden heavy silence, all the men were staring at Professor Snape.  
  
“Severus?” Lucius' voice got soft, horrified “Are you...are you just volunteering?”

“That’s right,” Rodolphus joined in, straightening up. “You weren’t in the contract folder with the rest of us.”

“You’re sleeping with a mudblood, don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to have a world where she isn’t treated like a _disease_ on society.” Professor Snape replied

“Your  _ Order _ was bandying about her sexual status like it was the daily exchange rate at Gringotts! Don't pretend like they have any interest in protecting her!” Rodolphus shouted, his hand going to his wand and she laid her hand on his arm to stop it.

“It's not worth it,” She soothed.

“Don’t pretend like they give two shits about mudbloods, or my Hermione.” He snapped, but even so, he relaxed under her touch, his hand straying from his pocket, and covering hers.

“And the Dark Lord wishes her dead!” Professor Snape shot, all semblance of a discussion gone, replaced with an argument. “The minute he remembers you, or any of us, and calls us to his side, she’s stuck here waiting for your wife to come off her!”

“Severus!” Rabastan said, shocked to the point where his voice broke on the name. “You’ve gone beyond the pale.”

“What?”

“Bellatrix is dead.” Rabastan said quietly “Dolph killed her nigh two weeks past.”

The whole room went quiet.

Professor Snape’s confidence faltered but he replied. “The Dark Lord said she was on a mission to Romania...for the dragons.” He sounded as surprised as she felt.

“Never made it.” Rodolphus’ voice was cold and she thought she had frozen, she looked up at the man who told her last night at three in the morning after two bottles of expensive champagne that he loved every color of her hair, and sang French rock songs until she covered his mouth with her hands to shut him up.

She didn’t know how to feel about this news, she stood there between the two men she loved, and some part of her, the rational part warned her that they were murderers and that this was no great secret.

Lucius changed the subject: “Well, it’s shit isn’t it?”

They all looked down at the papers on the table. “This is The Order of the Phoenix.” Rabastan said.

“I can’t believe we were caught by  _ this _ group.” Rodolphus groused “I think I am getting old.”  
  


* * *

  
“I can’t believe you killed her!” Her voice was shrill in the library, it was two hours after Professor Snape and Lucius had left. Rodolphus was placating her in the only way he knew how: not at all.

“What am I to do, Hermione?” He was following her deep into the stacks, where she was trying to get away from him, angry, elated, angry at herself for  _ being _ elated. “She attacked you.”

“And who am I, Rodolphus?” She pretended to study a book “Some eighteen year old  _ tart _ living in your house?”

“You are bound to us, by magic, marked as I am marked.” He grabbed her wrist and exposed the black rings.

“This is a curse mark.” She replied hotly “And you murdered your wife because...because you are in some kind of  _ crisis _ for an eighteen year old bed warmer!”

“Hermione!” His voice was sharp, and she knew she had overstepped her bounds, but she was furious. “You are not an eighteen year old bed warmer, so help me  _ Merlin _ there is no need to disparage yourself here!”

“Did you kill your wife because of curse marks from your brother? Will you kill me when I get old? Would you kill me if I didn’t have these?” She hissed, being drawn closer towards him even as she wanted to get away.

“I would never harm you, and I can _never_ harm you.”  
  
“You have no contract with The Order, I watched it burn.”

“I am in contract with  _ you _ , not the fucking Order.” He was close to her now, his heat, his anger, radiating off of his body in waves. “Goddess of my house, and  _ blessing _ . Bellatrix would have gone  _ mad _ if she knew even an ounce of how I feel for you, how we both feel for you. There will never be a moment in your life where you will know loneliness again. I am bound to you, by magic, by markings, by  _ worship _ .”

“I am no goddess, I am just a girl!” She hissed, unwilling to fight, trying to keep some morality in her, but she wanted him, gods, his black curly hair shone in the firelight, his eyes were endless pools of black, he smelled like safety and she knew every threat he made would be carried out. “Rodolphus, please.”

“Since you came into my house, I have desired you. Your magic sings against my skin. It’s seeped into the foundations of this building and taunts me.” He spoke quickly, in hushed tones “Forgive me for seeking retribution for you, but do not push me away once I have tasted the divine.”

“It’s not about  _ you _ doing it,” No longer anger, just petulant “Rodolphus, I can’t play this game. I am too naive, I cannot have both you, and Rabastan. And you can’t continue to  _ murder _ people who hex me.”

“Curse you.”

“Or that!”

“Hermione,”

“It’s wrong to want you both.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? You don’t mean to share me do you?”  
  
Silence was the answer and she pulled away from him, studying him in the firelight of the stacks, trying to understand where and how this conversation had steered away from him murdering his wife into a threesome.

“The heir of the LeStrange line has always been a triad.” He said, not meeting her eyes, afraid of rejection “We knew you were fated when you desired us both. It was only my grandfather, the Minister, who thought he could break the tradition, first with my father, and then with us.”

Her face flushed. “I cannot, it’s incest.”

“You are not my sister.”

“You would share me with your brother?” She whispered, afraid of being overheard by the books they were surrounded by “You would not go mad with jealousy?”

He looked at her, confused “For what reason?”

“To share me with another!”  
  
“I already share you with him. There is no reason for jealousy.”

She paused at this, and realized that she had been shared between the two of them for the past month or so, it wasn’t until New Years Eve that she had kissed Rodolphus, and when they had their own celebration in his rooms, there  _ were _ no strange feelings when she kissed Rabastan. She never felt like she was betraying either of them. She did not like that revelation. Many insults came to mind, but the one that stuck in her head was  _ deviant _ .

“Are you angry?” He asked when she did not respond.

“Yes I’m angry! You killed someone!”

“I kill people all the time,” He said, exasperated. “Why are you angry now?”

The statement, and the lack of awareness in the statement frustrated her. It was unspoken between her and him that they were murderers. She had witnessed him kill for her, and knew of his history, but it seemed so nonchalant that it upset her. Overwhelmed with this knowledge, and knowledge that it wasn’t the murders in itself that bothered her but the danger of him betraying her, she felt tears spring to her eyes. She quickly covered her face with her forearm, hoping he wouldn’t have noticed. Idiot, she was a fool. “I don’t want you to kill me too.”

“Ma petit,” He hugged her and she struggled against him “I will make an oath in any way you see fit, that no harm will ever come your way.”

“What if you kill me when you get bored of me?” She tried to hide how upset but everything about him was overwhelming and  _ safe _ and she hated that she felt this way. “What if you kill me like you did your wife?”

“A paper wife is not the same as you, and will never be the same as you.” He whispered in her ear, quick words, desperate words. “I was bound to Bellatrix by a magical contract, to you, I will be bound in blood, I will bind everything to you, so that we will die together if one of us dies. Ask for it, and it will be yours. Please do not cry, ma petit.”

“I hate you, you evil man.” She hit him weakly, trying to get away from this devil before she was consumed by him.   
  
It was too late.   
  
“I hate how much I love you.”

He stilled and she was afraid that he was finally angry with her. “My Hermione, my kind and gentle goddess.” He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent in such a way that made her knees weak. “I love you, ma petit fleur. You have saved my brother, and you have saved me. I will repay you on both sides of eternity.”

“Stupid man.” She felt him kiss her and her knees buckled “How do you say it in French?”

“Je t’aime, ma petit fleur.”

“No,” She sighed into his touch, overwhelmed by him, finally consumed by the darkness that was LeStrange “How do you call someone stupid in French?”

“Let Rab teach you bad words, ma petit. I will teach you only kind words.” He kissed her jugular vein, she could feel his lips against her pulse point. “First lesson, s’il vous plait.”

“I know that one.” She tilted her head to grant him more access.

“Next lesson, if you like something, ask kindly, and if you really like something-” A pause as his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin “Beg.”

“How do I beg in French?” She asked, knowing she was lost.

“No language will be needed, ma petit, continue to make those noises, and I will know.”

No one would know, she decided, in this dark corner of the library, how much she needed him to touch her. How his hands were so gentle as they traced her figure, hiking up her Hogwarts plaid to reveal white thighs and white underwear. She couldn’t stop herself from wanting him, and she knew that there was not a minute that she had stopped denying herself the touch of this man.

“Perfection,” His words took on a French lilt as her legs spread for him, allowing him more access as he pressed her against the shelves, his lips brushed against her jaw, the stubble from his skin a contrast to his soft lips that kissed their way towards her chin. Every dream she had of this moment paled in comparison. Murderer, convict,  _ hers _ .

He kissed her, their tongues instantly meeting and his hand brushing the apex of her thighs and when she faltered, he held her up, a strong arm catching her, around the waist as his hand sat between her legs, the heat alone making her moan into his mouth. No one had ever touched her here, and his touches were far different than her own.

“Let me worship you, my little goddess, let me serve you.” His breathing was fast, his eyes hooded as he stared at her and she could do nothing but say his name. “Do you like it?”  
She nodded, and tried to roll her hips meet his hand, for more contact for more of something she did not know. A tension was growing in her body that made her legs both want to come together and spread further apart.

“Kindly, ma petit.”

“S’il vous plait.” She responded eagerly.

His fingers curled up into the white fabric and she keened in pleasure, not knowing that she  _ needed _ him as much as she did. Her whole body seemed to come to life under his touch, arching like an bow, pressing as much as she could against him. The motion of him rubbing her slit through the flimsy fabric was driving her to new heights, each circle crested and fell, her body both knowing it was too much and not enough. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to prevent herself from being loud, embarrassed by her reactions to something so simple.

“Is this the first time a man has touched you here?” His breath was ragged in her ear, their bodies pressed together against the shelves, his touches light, but quick, causing her to squirm against him. She could feel his hardness against her thigh.

“Yes.” She whined, grabbing onto his shoulders “Yes, it is too much!”

His touch slowed, his lips ghosted against hers. “Give yourself to me, let go, Hermione. I will catch you.”

“How?” Her voice broke with frustration, a need she could not voice. 

Her hands balled into fists as he stroked her swollen clit, her panties now soggy with her own juices, he hiked her up so that her legs were wrapped around him and all that joined them was at the waist.

His hand cradled the back of her head, and pulled her lips to his, caressing her tongue with his, moaning into her mouth as her hips bucked against his hand. He knew, of course he knew, because suddenly the tension inside her snapped and his hand stilled as she moaned into his mouth, the need fading into contentment as completion rolled through her body in waves. She broke the kiss, panting, and he cradled her against him gently. “Ma petit, my good girl.”

“I hate you.” She said, with no venom “Evil man.”

“Yours,” He reassured and kissed her face “Yours, always.”

Her ears were ringing, and she wished at the time she had paid more attention to how the library seemed to call to her, its siren song becoming louder and louder.  
  


* * *

  
She hadn’t noticed until they prepared for Luna to come over just how much of the house had been cleaned and opened up. She walked into a new sitting room on the front of the house, sunlight streaming, throwing itself across luxurious antique rugs that were plush and rich in color. The ghostly white pallor of the dusty home now instead was rich woods and jewel tones, fires in every room she passed.

“Rab?” She called into the large sitting room, but there was no answer, just some curious portraits who gathered to watch the young mistress of the house “Where is he?”

There was a crack of thunder outside and her eyes were drawn to the windows, four people had arrived on their lawn and there was a scuffle as elves lined up in the foyer to greet their guests. She heard Rodolphus and Rabastan fighting between themselves on who should go greet them because it was “bloody cold” outside.

She moved from the main sitting room to the foyer and opened the door, a gust of winter wind blowing her hair back as the Malfoy’s and Luna Lovegood trudged up the drive. Curiously enough she noted that Draco Malfoy had his hand nestled in hers. Hermione decided not to comment on  _ that pairing _ .

“Hurry!” She called and opened the other door “You’ll catch your death out here.”  
  
“I don’t see why we can’t apparate inside the foyer,” Lucius dusted himself off as he passed her “It’s not as if we’re strangers.”

Narcissa followed her husband inside, and then Luna who kissed her on both cheeks and then Draco, who looked her over for a moment “Granger.”  
  
“Malfoy.”

“Some civility Draco,” Narcissa sighed as she handed the elves her travel robes. “Miss Granger has done you a great favor.”

“Hermione! Shut the door, I don’t want you getting sick either.” Rodolphus said finally coming downstairs, slipping on his robes over his wool pants and white shirt. 

“Dolph, you should really get the girl some proper clothes.” Narcissa tsk’d as she floated into the dining room “Dressed in rags, the next mistress of your house, honestly.”

“She is doing much better.” Rabastan commented following his brother down the stairs and greeting Lucius.

“The continent agrees with her, as it has with you.” Lucius said and disappeared into the dining room behind his wife, Draco following his father dutifully, and Luna was staring up at the chandelier, spinning in a yellow sundress that had to be cold.

“It is the first time I have been in the presence of this magic.” She said and looked away from the glittering crystal to Hermione. “I have been blessed.”

“It’s good to see you again, Luna.” She admitted, trying to ignore the strangeness of her greeting. “Let’s go eat, I want to hear all about your time at the Malfoy’s.”

Rabastan was filling her plate for her and an elf was pouring a bottle of wine Lucius had brought with him as Narcissa complained about what a chore it was opening the summer home in the south of France as she lived in it. Luna was inspecting the food, and then the ceiling, looking for something that was invisible to the naked eye and Draco just stared at Hermione.

“Can I help you?” She asked, picking up her glass of wine and looking at Draco.

“It’s just weird,” Draco said and Narcissa looked over at her son with the eyes of a mother and Hermione knew that look well. It conveyed three words  _ Don’t You Dare _ .

“Go on.” She dared him.

“What happened to Potter and Weasley?” His voice was snide and she sipped her wine in response. “What happened to Good Girl Granger?”

“I can tell you raised him, Lucius.” Rodolphus said with a laugh.

“What?” Lucius seemed to flush at the accusation.

“He is a spitting image of you at seventeen. Narcissa was a saint to take you in like the stray dog you were.” Rodolphus replied and raised his glass. “Go ahead Draco, continue to insult my Hermione at this table, I will make a bet on who curses you first, your mother, or my brother.”

Draco snapped his mouth shut, withering under his mother’s glare.

“Hermione needed to be here Draco, you know.” Luna said gravely “I told you to pay attention to the atmosphere.”

“Perceptive.” Rabastan said beside her “I remember your mother was part fae, Miss Lovegood.”

“Mama _was_ part fae, and killed for it. However, the Malfoy’s have allowed me to live, despite being fated to die.”

“Were you threatened?” Hermione asked, suddenly interested.

“No, it is just something we know, as you too know, Hermione.” She said and picked up her wine, sniffing it “The old magic is coming back, it has been disturbed for too long. Dumbledore knows this, on some level.” She drank it and looked at Hermione. “Goddess.”

Hermione’s eyes shifted to Rodolphus, suddenly blushing, and did not ask why Luna knew his pet name for her, or that her pet name was being discussed at the dinner table.

“Your stocks have taken a nosedive once you quit England.” Rodolphus said, switching topics “The news was quite a shock to your partners, I am sure.”

“England is too unstable for business, it is unsuitable for the kind of work I am in.”  
“Making money is the kind of work you are in, don’t pretend as if you have some craft.” Rabastan interjected, and the conversation swayed to poke fun at Lucius, who, as always was graceful when he took their jests.

“Will Severus come?” Narcissa asked after a bottle of wine had come and gone and she was picking at a chocolate torte. 

“Always invited but never arrives,” Lucius waved it off. “He is probably busy at his school, mucking around and trying to pretend like it is a living.”

“Self flagellation.” Narcissa said quietly, more to herself than the room “He’s always felt guilt after what happened to the Evans girl, you know that.”

“We have all had friends die in this war, my dear, this one and the last. No need to  _ teach _ because of it.” Lucius looked at her “Finally, he is seeing the errors of his ways when they ousted  _ you _ , Hermione.”

“What do you mean?”

“The only mudblood in the group that he joined to protect mudbloods, cast away to France while Dumbledore takes Divination 201 in his study.”

She rolled her eyes at the slur, it had lost its bite, but it still annoyed her.

“Oh, but Hermione had to come here,” Luna chimed in. “As I had to come to the forests of Wiltshire.”

“Explain, Miss Luna.” Rabastan asked, Hermione's name piquing his interest.

“You hear it, of course,” She said before stuffing an entire carrot into her mouth “I can hear it too.”  
  
Rabastan went silent and Draco cleared his throat, another attempt at conversation “I am enrolling in Beauxbatons for the spring, with Luna, Granger, it’d be nice to have some competition for first place.”

“Luna, what reason did Dumbledore send you to the Malfoy’s?” Hermione asked, avoiding Draco’s question, her future was too uncertain and she didn’t want to admit it to anyone out loud.

“Oh, I asked him something I shouldn’t have asked.”

“About?”  
  
“Mister Grindelwald.” Luna’s eyes suddenly lost their dreamy quality and a conspiratorial smile graced her features “You know the rumors, I just asked if they were true.”

“What rumors?” Rodolphus asked, the whole table turned it’s attention on the moony blonde.

“That they were lovers, and that he used Grindelwald’s love for him to kill him. It’s common knowledge really.”

“How can you kill someone with love?” Rabastan asked.

“How can you blackmail two men with it?” She sipped her wine “I don’t actually like red wine, do you have any white? Draco always likes white wine.”

“Do you think that he will find out we are not bound to that group anymore? Why haven’t we been contacted?” Lucius changed the subject. “We’ve quit England now, but Dumbledore hasn’t noticed Draco gone.”

“School doesn’t resume for another week.” Hermione said thoughtfully “On the tenth.”

“Then we have until the tenth,” Narcissa said quietly “Before The Order comes for us in Wiltshire and finds us all missing.”

“The only person left in Wiltshire is our Lord, would he be so stupid to walk right into that den of snakes?” Lucius asked incredulously.

She looked over at Rodolphus, and the answer was just a frustrated sigh from Lucius of begrudging understanding. Of course they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello, 
> 
> The story was not abandoned. I was just on vacation for the past two weeks! I am back from the wilderness and ready to post more chapters, we'll resume our regular schedule.
> 
> I promised a sex scene, but actually this chapter was too long (each chapter is about 4,000 words) so it will be the beginning of the next chapter.
> 
> I'll post it before Christmas, I promise :)


	16. Chapter 16

She was nursing a glass of wine around the fire, alone now with the brothers, _her_ brothers. Rodolphus was pacing in front of the fire. “That fae girl that Draco was with, everything she said was unsettling.”

“To ask some question that seems to be a common rumor and be dismissed, it’s the same as when we tried to leave for the horcrux hunt.” She replied “It’s all a cover, I think he wants to isolate Harry.”

“The _what_?” Rabastan said next to her and she froze.

This stupid wine, she regretted even tasting it, and she set it down on the table. While she didn’t like The Order, she shouldn’t have blown their cover.

“Who has a horcrux?” Rodolphus stopped pacing “Dumbledore?”  
  
“Forget I said anything!” She said, suddenly aware of her mistake. “It’s not something that should be discussed.

“Are you hunting to _make_ one?” Rabastan asked quietly, holding her and looking at her with those searching eyes that said if she did indeed intend to make one he would be ready to start out with her at a moment’s notice.

“No! Merlin!” She withdrew her hand from his and cradled it to her chest before stepping away from the two of them. How much did she trust them?

Neither of them spoke as she decided how much to tell them, and after a while the two men were on the couch with a bottle of wine and watching her pace in front of the fireplace. “Even Professor Snape is not allowed to know this, and if you betray this knowledge to the Dark Lord, I’ll kill myself after I kill you both.”

“We know what horcruxes are, they aren’t some obscurity.” Rodolphus was peeved but refilled his glass.

“Shut up, Dolph.” Rabastan nudged him and spilled some of the wine. “Let her speak, it’s obviously serious.”

“Your lord has horcruxes.”

“Ok.” Rabastan said and sipped his red wine, leaning back and she hated how the firelight caught his eyes and made him look incredibly tantalising.

She shook her head “Ok? It’s dark magic!”

“We’re not really in the _business_ of judging magic, ma petit, nor are you.”

Her mouth thinned in a line, not willing to pursue that line of thought for much longer than that sentence. “He has seven, I think, I am not sure.”

“Ah, now that is news to us.” Rodolphus sat up straighter “Seven? His magic is more unstable than ever. It explains a lot.”

“So your plan was to go and get the Dark Lord’s horcruxes?” Rabastan continued the interrogation.

“Correct.”

“And then?”

“Well destroy them obviously. He’s evil, he must be stopped.”

Rodolphus laughed “If he’s truly made seven horcruxes, he’s going to stop by himself, no need for interference.”

“Explain.” She sat down on the coffee table in front of them, one of her knees touching Rabastan, and the other, Rodolphus.

“Why do you think it’s called pure magic, ma petit?”  
  
“There is no wand, I guess.”

“Nothing to meter your magic into, just in and out, like breathing.” He handed her his wine glass and she took a sip “Horcruxes are a type of magical crux, there are many. The Star Gauge is a magical crux, a lot of the library is one, your magic feeds into it, and it returns the favor, in a symbiotic relationship, you need light in the library, and so in exchange for your energy, it gives you light now.”

“When your magic is bound, as is Rab’s, there is no crux you can use except a passive one, a wand. This is the Ministry’s curse.”

“So I created a crux?” She asked, rolling the idea around in her head.

“Which is why Severus was so shocked, despite him swearing up and down to get you here that you were bright, and good, and _mature_ , and wouldn’t be a problem as long as you had the library.” She kicked Rodolphus to make him shut up.

“A wand does not give back, it just channels magic in and out, a crutch.” Rabastan continued. “A horcrux gives something back, you give the object a little of your magic, and it traps another’s energy, metering it back out. The idea, I _guess_ is that magic is what gives us life, and if you have more magic, then you can live a longer life.”

“You guess?”

“We are strong believers on the continent of pure magic, and the concept of a horcrux can dirty your magic, without proper convergence,” Rodolphus waved his hand “You just become a mess, mixing too many elements together, you just become _nothing_.”

“So it’s not pieces of his soul?”

“Metaphorically? I don’t know.” Rabastan was offended at this and looked her over “Did a book tell you it was his soul?”  
“Dumbledore told Harry that he had split his soul.” She replied.

“Romanticized English nonsense.” Rabastan said with finality and seemed to relax “We thought there was really going to be some great secret, but it was just horcruxes.”

“I thought it _was_ some great secret!” She protested and Rabastan leaned forward, pulling her onto the couch with the two of them and she squealed. “It’s dark magic.”

“It is just magic,” Rabastan kissed her and she squirmed in his arms, it tasted like pinot noir “Magic has no morals.”

“Shouldn’t we at least have some morals?” She asked, straddling his lap.

“Do you want to?” Rabastan kissed her again briefly.

She sat up on her knees and looked over at Rodolphus who watched her with delight.

“I’m trying,” She admitted, and leaned over, Rabastan’s hands on her hip to steady her “But it’s hard.”

Rodolphus kissed her while she was held by his brother, and she knew that there was no turning back now. Heaven was hers, and it tasted like red wine.

The way Rabastan touched her was gentle, his hands skirting against her the cotton fabric of her uniform shirt, unwilling to truly give contact, the only feeling was the brush of warmth as the fabric moved with his fingers. She could blame the warmth building between her thighs on the wine, the lack of good judgement on the men who lavished her with unrelenting attentions.

Rodolphus’ fingers petted her skin as their tongues met, he knew, as he often did while kissing her, that it was easy to consume her, a few touches, skirting against her throat, a threat of something more sinister that drove her mad, and as the pads of his fingers skirted her jugular she made a small moan, leaning in towards the older brother, tilting her head up more, giving him more access to her, as the younger brother memorised the geometry of her body.

She was straddling Rabastan and she could feel him harden as his fingers reached the swell of her hips, the featherlight touches a teasing contrast to his older brother’s intense kisses and the thumb and forefinger that held her head firmly at the perfect angle for him to dominate her mouth, his fingers fanned out over her throat.

She felt her uniform fabric being pulled from her skirt, and finally, almost reverently, she felt Rabastan’s shaking hand rest against the small of her waist. “So small, and yet so warm.” He commented, maybe to her, but this type of worship was meant for man only.

Rodolphus broke the kiss abruptly and she worried he had angered him, his dark eyes seemed to burn, the fire reflected in his irises as he looked over at his brother. “Our witch, goddess of _our_ house, finally.”

“Can I taste?” He asked his brother and she sat back, trying to ignore the hard cock pressing against her white cotton Hogwarts issued panties.

The two of them looked at her, their hair messy in different fashion, incredibly different, and yet she found the LeStrange features compelling and wondered how she could have found a Weasley attractive: dark hair, dark eyes, noble features, and high cheekbones. Rodolphus had wild curly hair like hers, and yet wholly different, shiny curls that looked like snakes, tucked behind his ears to reveal a black curse mark that started beneath his jaw and ended somewhere behind his ear. Rabastan had straight hair that stuck to his face sometimes because it was so fine, it ended at his shoulders and often got in the way of kisses, tonight he wore it half up, but some had escaped, betraying his timidity with her.

Rabastan’s hands travelled higher, his fingers tracing each rib bone with care, his fingers brushing against the bottom of her underwire bra. Perhaps she adored these two men because they adored her so much. Finally she had a place, and people who paid attention to her for more than just homework help and horcrux help. Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger-LeStrange, fingers slipped beneath her underwire, soft touches on the underside of her breasts that caused a contented sigh to escape her lips, Hermione LeStrange.

Yes, the name settled into her psyche like an aphrodisiac. She wanted nothing more than to belong to them. “How long have you existed without being worshipped ma petit?” Rabastan asked sitting upright, the hands that brushed her ribs now trailing behind her to find the clasp of her bra. “How many men were in the presence of a goddess without falling to their knees?”

She flushed red at the poetic language. “You, for one.”

“Oh I knew,” Rabastan said and with a pinch and a twist the elastic that held her bra fell loose “I knew when you stepped foot into this house that I would spend the rest of my life in your service.”

Rodolphus had a glass of firewhiskey in one hand and leaned over, brushing her hair away from her neck, pulling gently on the curls, and for some reason, this small act of control, made her tilt her head back. When Rodolphus touched her she became simply a marionette, willing to bend to him because every time she obeyed, it meant pleasure.

Her shirt slid off after Rabastan teased her for a good few minutes, languishing over every button, murmuring words of praise, touching the bared skin with the back of her fingers and she was nearly panting by the end of it. The fire was too hot or _she_ was too hot, but Rodolphus continued his small attentions between sips of whiskey, lending the room a woody smell between the tang of her sweat and arousal. She could feel Rabastan’s cock throb beneath her as she moaned in relief when her bra and shirt slid to the floor.

“I have seen you many times, but I have never seen you look half as good as you do now.” Rodolphus commented standing up, his sleeves rolled up, his dark mark criss crossed with black markings from curses, his cock pressed painfully against the wollen fabric. “And now, I believe it is time to move to the bed.”

She sat in her Hogwarts skirt and panties, and not much else, feeling painfully young and _painfully_ aroused. She hadn’t even noticed the slow build until she shifted against Rabastan’s cock to move, the friction brushed against her clit and she almost doubled over, a small cry of pleasure and she was picked up by the man she was straddling and put down on the large four poster bed.

Rodolphus crawled onto bed with her, the man oozed sensuality, he moved with the same grace he possessed while dueling, and his fingers went to the waistband of her skirt, “Hips up, petit, you’re entirely too clothed.”

“You too!” She cried indignantly, feeling a bit silly being the only person half naked for her first time, her fingers reached for the white linen shirt he was wearing and her skirt and underwear came off at once and then she was naked before them.

She _felt_ naked, the arousal abating and embarrassment replacing her inner mantra of the _Mistress of House Lestrange_. “We will play a game, petit, the same we played the other day.” He held her hand against his chest, and she could feel his heart beating wildly underneath, excitement or perhaps a small bit of nervousness.

“No games.” She looked away from him to Rabastan who was unbuttoning his shirt leisurely. “No games, help me Rab.”  
Fear flashed through her as she realized at his exposed chest that she was about to have sex with two men in their forties, perhaps older. Rodolphus squeezed her hand, moving it from her chest to his lips, kissing her fingertips.

“If you want something, you ask politely.” He kissed her index finger.

“Rodolphus-” Panic had entered her voice.  
“If you want us to stop, you only need ask.” He kissed her middle finger.

There was a flutter of fabric as Rabastan took of her shirt, fingers began to stroke her hair, and her brown eyes flitted to the younger brother who was now only in his trousers.

“Rabastan-”

“If you want us to do something again, you must beg.” He kissed her ring finger.

“And for that, no politeness is needed.” Rabastan finished for his brother.

Rodolphus paused here, his lips against her skin, she could feel the warmth of his breath on her fingertips.

“Ma petit, do you want this?”

A thousand fears crossed her mind, even as Rabastan stroked her hair and the two men made no move to continue until she agreed to the rules of this game.

Gods above, but she wanted them, she wanted to be possessed by them fully, to understand the pleasure that they could give her, but a large part of her worried that she would not measure up to their experience, she was just some eighteen year old, and inexperienced enough to be an unfortunate virgin. Her eyes moved from Rodolphus to Rabastan who seemed softer and less threatening and she kissed him, this time chaste, and he smiled against her lips.

“Agreed?” Rabastan asked her quietly.

She was a Gryffindor, she was not weak. So what if she was inexperienced?

“Agreed.”

She was already halfway there anyways.

The tension in the room relaxed and Rodolphus slid on the other side of her, propping his head up on his hand and staring at her for a moment, his eyes moving over her form and then he kissed her forehead. “I’ve dreamed of this a thousand times.”

Two hands, one from each brother trailed up her thigh in unison. “Ours.” Rabastan marveled.

Rabastan’s hands slipped between her thighs and she parted her legs for him, as Rodolphus traveled higher, his fingers cupping one of her small breasts, fingers moving to tease her nipples to hardness and then like an electrical current he pinched the hardened nipple and her whole body bowed up to meet his touch.

“Responsive.” Rodolphus commented, and then he leaned down, capturing the nipple with his teeth, and then his lips, laving it with attention. Her mind went blank.

Rabastan swiped two fingers up her slit, parting it slightly and brushing against her throbbing clit. It had an instant effect, she felt the electric shock of pleasure at the briefest of contact. They had never been intimate and yet he already knew what drove her to madness. She tangled her free hand in Rodolphus’ hair, whimpering underneath the surge or pleasure from every nerve ending in her body. Rodolphus growled in response to his hair being pulled and she mewled as the two fingers that were at her slit, tentative at first, became bolder, and began to rub gently against her, making her toes curl.

“More?” Rabastan queried, a playful French lilt, pleased at her reaction to him.

“Please.” She gasped.

Rodolphus blew on her nipple, the change in temparature shocked her to open her eyes to see the older brother watching her like a predator “ _en Francaise_.”

She bit back a curse as another swipe of her clit made her eyes flutter shut “S’il vous plait.”

“Ah, there we go, ma petit, you are already good at this game.” And Rodolphus kissed her, swallowing her moans of pleasure as the fingers between her legs continued to drive her to new heights of pleasure. 

She was unsure if it was Rabastan’s expertise or having the attentions of both the men that was making every kiss, every touch, a thousand times more intense, but after a few moments she didn’t care much.

Knees, not hands, parted her thighs and she felt the bed shift, and the kiss ended, she opened her eyes to see Rodolphus looking briefly at his younger brother, and the two of them looked to her. “More?”

“More.” She agreed nodding, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice, and then as an afterthought, a smile “S’il vous plait.”

They moved as if this was the hundredth time and not the first, shifting so that she was between Rodolphus’ legs and he was leaning against a mountain of pillows, her legs splayed open with his. He tilted her neck to the side, brushing her hair to expose her skin and kissing her gently, and then nipping her gently, causing her eyes to flutter shut.

She wished she would have kept them, because she was startled by the finger slipping inside of her, but a hand on her hip kept her from moving away from the older brother, sweet french nothings fell against her skin. She keened as the palm of Rabastan’s hands brushed against her swollen clit, tired of their teasing her eyes snapped open.

“I need _more_.” She demanded, her whole body moving with the fingers that were now lazily moving in and out of her.

“Politely.” Rodolphus suggested against her skin, his hands sliding up her body and cupping her breasts, toying with her dusty pink nipples until she was forced to let out a low moan.

“S’il vous plait.” She turned to face him and he smiled.

“All the way more?” Rabastan asked quietly, his hand stopping, and the orgasm that she was teetering on left unfinished and she made a whine, throwing her head back.

“All the way more!” She reached out for the younger of the two brothers and grabbed him pulling him towards her kissing him.

They broke the kiss and he resumed his slow motions inside of her, curling inside of her and hitting some spot so sensitive she saw stars. How could they know more of her body than she knew herself?

Her thighs were nudged wider and she noticed Rab and Rodolphus were staring at each other again, one of the hands on her breast had fallen across her midsection, Rodolphus’ cock throbbed painfully against her bottom but she knew, without anything being said, that Rabastan would take her virginity from her.

Rabastan moved from her and kissed Rodolphus on the cheek briefly and then withdrew his fingers from her and offered them to her lips, she accepted them greedily, sucking her own essence from his fingers, not for the taste, but for the way Rabastan’s eyes shuttered the way hers had done many times before, and she was rewarded for the first time that night with a moan from the younger brother.

She felt his cock prodding at her entrance, their eyes locked, her mouth full of the taste of her own juices, the only sound was the fire crackling and their hearts beating as he swiftly entered her, the pleasure of their buildup removed by a stinging pain of her virginity being taken and she leaned back against Rodolphus for comfort who spoke to her quietly in French, the soft rolling tones of his voice letting her ride out the waves of pain, her teeth stopped just short of Rabastan’s fingers.

“My goddess,” He whispered in her ear, kissing her, “Our goddess, _ours_ bound by our magic. Agree to be ours.”

Rabastan thrust into her slowly and Rodolphus’ arm that was around her waist dipped lower, finding her swollen clit and beginning to rub it gently, the arousal came roaring back, and she tightened around the new intrusion inside of her. She felt so incredibly full, her head back against Rodolphus’ shoulder.

“Yes, Yes. Yours.” She agreed, wishing this tension would release, her orgasm denied for so long felt almost impossible now. She would agree to anything in this state as long as they kept touching her, kept driving her to new heights of pleasure.  
“Oh ma petit, you make the most delightful noises.” Rabastan teased, leaning down to kiss her, swiping his tongue against her lips. “Let go, we have you.”

Her body obeyed, as it always would, or perhaps because Rodolphus knew she was on the precipice he made sure she came, a buzzing electric jolt that coursed through her entire body, crashing over her in waves of pleasure, she did not scream, but instead begged in a language that no one spoke outside of bed, her body arched up and rigid.

“Fuck, fuck.” Rabastan spoke as her fingernails dug into his shoulders holding him close to her “She’s so tight.”

His thrusts became erratic, and he hissed her name as her hips bucked to meet his automatically, riding out the last remnants of her orgasm, each thrust almost too much pleasure, causing her breath to hitch. 

“Rabastan, please….s’il vous plait, give yourself to me.”

Rabastan leaned down to kiss her briefly, slowing down and when she moaned his name he lost control, his hands, formerly gentle, dug into her thigh, slamming deep inside of her and she knew there would be purple bruises where his fingers were and she could _feel_ him empty himself inside of her, calling her name with a shuddering gasp

He hid his face in her shoulder, and she saw where he nails had gouged into him, blood welling up in crescent moons on each side. She felt oddly proud.

Rodolphus laughed softly and there was a brush of magic as he was healed. “Not done, not yet.” 

She was laid gently beside Rabastan who was flushed red, his eyes shut. “So much for _years of experience_ , ma petit. I haven’t known a woman for your lifetime at least.”

Rodolphus tugged on a curl and looked at her and she was alarmed, realising he had not cleaned her and she was still filled with his brother’s fluids “I am still-”

“Absolutely.” He pulled her hips towards him. “Time to make you _ours_.” 

For some reason, Rodolphus made every taboo incredibly erotic, and as he slid into her, still slick with her juices and his brothers, she knew that she would _never_ be able to leave this bed. There was a new level of intimacy between the three of them as the older brother fucked her, not so much to love her, but to completely possess her. To show her that every part of her was desired by every part of this ancient family. He was a great deal thicker than his brother, stretching her out but it was a comfortable ache that built into pleasure over time.

Rabastan’s kindness was replaced by Rodolphus’ passion. The younger brother held her hand and laid next to the two of them as she was taken by Rodolphus, they shared languid kisses, swallowing moans and swapping spit until everyone’s mouth tasted of her, and she hardly knew where they started and she began.

Rodolphus worshipped her as a dying man at the altar, taking her roughly as if he would never see her again, thrusting in and out of her until their hips met and he would press into her deeper, exhaling her name as she ground into him, his cock reaching the sweet spot inside of her. He nipped at her skin, leaving small red marks where his lips were, keeping her still beneath him, and if she moaned, he would take her harder, and finally when she was reduced to babbling his name, her orgasm teased out of every thrust, still unattainable.

His hands brushed around her throat, and the threat drove her wild, and when she opened her eyes, she realized she had tilted her head back to allow him more access.

It was after all, the danger that she lusted after for between these two men, and when she felt as if he could claim her life or give her life, his fingers sliding around her throat, his thumb tilting her head up so their eyes met he became her world.

“Ours.”

“Yours.” She agreed, but of course she would. He was her God.

“Fuck.” He hissed, bowing his head and thrusting deep inside of her, emptying himself into her with a low growl.

She whined, sore, but aroused as he slipped from her and Rabastan, recovered, kissed her gently, skimming his hand down her body slick with their sweat and finally soothing her, rubbing her cunt until she came with a muted cry, hiding her face in his chest.

It was soft fingers that tangled in her hair, and there was a brush of magic that settled in the room, she was clean and the blanket was over them. Soft kisses, whispered sweetness, and she was nestled between the LeStrange brothers, their fluids sticky on her thighs.

She was contented, because some part of her knew that she was a LeStrange now too. The magic in the room agreed, shimmering like dust in sunlight, but the three of them did not see, for exhaustion claimed them quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, it's smut~
> 
> Actually it's plot furthering smut, things are going to start unraveling quickly.
> 
> I don't know why I am moving so slowly with this story to be honest, it was supposed to be a short story but I am really enjoying my time with these boys.


	17. Chapter 17

“What is all this?” She asked the next day as elves carted in box after box, wrapped in brown paper “Are we going to have a guest?”

Rodolphus who was just in pants and a robe today and was checking a parchment “Narcissa mentioned you needed clothes, and now you have clothes so she can stop calling you names when you’re not present.”

Her eyes were drawn to the black scars criss crossing his skin, markings that bound him to his brother, and bound her to them. “Although,” He interrupted her perusal of him “I have grown rather fond of the short skirts you’ve been wearing.”

“I am sure there is room for skirts in the store you’re planning on opening up with all of these packages.” An elf passed by, several more boxes floating behind them “When did you have time to do this?”

“It was supposed to be for Christmas, to show that you have a place with us, that this is home, but they said something about  _ volume _ . Have you seen Rab? He’s been looking for you.”

“No, I was just coming from the kitchens and almost missed this parade.” She looked at a hat box as it floated by “What  _ is _ all this?”

“The seamstress said this is what you needed, and so I got it. Come, let’s find Rab. Severus will drop by this afternoon.”

“Is there not a day we will have to ourselves anymore?” She huffed and Rodolphus kissed the frown off her face.

“Let them come to you.” He repeated an oft used phrase in the LeStrange repetoire “And let  _ us _ go find my brother.”

Rab was in the kitchens, eating a pastry while he looked out over the back yard. The way the sun shone down on the blanket of pure snow was reflected into his kitchen. He was tall and wiry, sleek and strong, his hair was pulled into a low ponytail to keep it away from his face and she could see his sharp features even from here. He was looking over a scrap of parchment and muttering to himself.

“I found the witch you’ve been after.” Rodolphus said digging through the wicker bread basket that contained all the breads and pastries baked by the elves.

Rabastan sometimes had a frightened look when people came near him, that wild animal part of him that was startled when people were addressing him. It passed over him like a shadow and then it was gone, replaced with a small smile and brightness as he caught sight of her.

“Ma petit, I need your assistance.” He said and handed her the stack of papers, she glanced down and saw it was his arithmancy, which was barely legible in some places, and unbalanced in others and let out a sigh.

“You  _ never _ balance your equations in a way that makes sense to anyone other than you.” She sighed and flipped through them, trying to understand the goal of this mess. The dates in the equation were old, hundreds of years, dating back to the Roman empire. “Is this from the ledgers?”

“I caught you reading one, but I am not sure why.” Rodolphus said “It is for Rab’s research.”

“On what?”

“The warding on that door, we believe it’s making the magic of the house unstable, it could be leaking.” Rabastan pointed out something that looked like an account of the initial warding spells.

“You warded it.” She pointed to Rodolphus with her croissant.

“I warded the area around it from  _ you _ , it’s dangerous, you can hear it, causing the magic to jump all over the place.” He continued to dig through the basket,

“It’s not random,” She hummed and flipped over the paper where Rabastan tries to account for entropy “It has a melody.”

“Nonsense, magic has no conscious, no will of it’s own.” Rabastan scoffed and stood up straighter “We have to find out what is causing the wards to tear through this house like ghosts, if they are unstable, we cannot protect ourselves from  _ unwanted guests _ .”

“You believe the Headmaster will come here?”

“He wants you, or something in this house, of  _ this _ I have no doubt.” Rodolphus let out a sigh of frustration and Hermione turned to look at the snow in the back yard “Once he finds out we are no longer bound to his  _ club _ he will come to retrieve you.”

“Let him come to me.” She said and stepped away from the window, heading towards the library to figure out if the song of the library was random as Rodolphus claimed. The older brother was still rooting around the pastries basket. “I don't know why you're looking, Rab always eats the all chocolat au pain before you can.”

She stepped into the library, exhaling in the silence, listening to the siren song of her books. She began to hum along, traipsing deeper into the caverns without purpose, the equations for the door in her hand. The star gauge whirred and dinged happily near her, the glow of the room of memories and then the door.

“Is this truly the cause of all the problems in this house?” She asked the slab of stone, and cast a few charms to reveal the wardings, simple things she had picked up from defense, but the wards did not glow in response, and the tune in the air, a low drone that fluctuated as she moved around it, did not change pitch.

There was a clatter somewhere else in the library and she turned away from the darkness. She hadn’t realized how close she was to the warding that Rodolphus had set, it buzzed just against her skin. She took a step back and narrowed her eyes at it. There was a melody, it wasn’t random, how could her brain know the pitch changes of the lullaby of the library if it was truly random.

She walked back towards the large windows on the sunny day, tinted blue with sea water, fish swam by happily as she picked up the book that had fallen. Now moved away from Christienne’s mother, she was reading the accounts of Christienne herself.

_ My daughter Leta has been told she must bring two others to the house, as our house requires three to avoid disaster. Arrogant child says she will flee her fates. Pierrot tells me that all LeStrange will understand their role. It is my concern that she will doom this house. _

Footsteps approached her “It’s a melody, you arrogant man.” She said without looking up.

“I am not often in the mood to be called arrogant by children.” Professor Snape drawled and looked around the room.

She closed the diary and looked up at her Professor who was now taking a turn about the room and she sat upright. “Did-”

“They told me to come find you, and when I went to the study, a door I had not noticed was left open by a forgetful  _ someone _ , and now I can understand why you are loathe to leave this estate. I had always thought it was strange that they would ask you to research in that sitting room with barely four  _ hundred _ titles.”

Panic seeped into her muscles, and she grabbed her wand. She was not handy with memory spells, and her Professor had saved her on many occasions, but she knew he was still Dumbledore’s man.

“Don’t test me, Miss Granger. I am on your side.” He still had his back turned to her as he started exploring the stacks for a moment, disappearing from view and then returning, sitting down and tossing a new journal to her.

“Explain to me your thoughts on Dragon’s blood as a stabilizer instead of a catalyst for volatile potions.”

“Sir?”

“Consider me your  _ private _ and under-paid tutor until you can get your GECOS here in France.”

“Who is paying you? Certainly not me.”

“No payment needed, I would like to address some wrongs that I have seen in my years of teaching you Miss Granger, the first of which, is letting the Headmaster wage war through child hostages.”

“Do you know why he sent me here?” She asked, opening the cover of the journal to see his name listed under a paper published about healing potions and shut it. “What was the mission? What was the initial mission?”

“It was their hope that they could get one of the LeStrange brothers to assault you, and therefore they would be able to finally arrest them for crimes committed. As of now, they are both free men.”

She felt nauseous.

“This was Alastor’s plan.”

“I was bait?”

“This is what Alastor told me, there was a plan to round up the free Death Eater’s by entrapment.” Professor Snape picked up an ancient ledger and flipped through it, appearing bored “This was before he was killed for trying to  _ force _ the issue with Rodolphus.”

“This is insane.”

“He was trying to get back at LeStrange for torturing the Longbottom’s to insanity. Alastor was never known for his strategy.”

“What do you mean?”

“They exchanged Rabastan’s safety for yours, he would do nothing to endanger his brother. Enough questions, Miss Granger, Dragon’s blood, page 34.”

They spoke at length, the afternoon whittling away into early evening, and she realized that Professor Snape was strict, but fair. Quick to follow her reasoning, and even quicker to correct her when she was wrong, they alternated between discussion and reading the journals and then finally they lapsed into silence while she waited for dinner.

“Will you go back?”

“I am bound.” He sounded tired and she looked up from the journal, his article, his work, the youngest pioneer of potions in England.

“Can we unbind you?” She asked. “Is it possible?”

“I am not a charity case.” He snapped and stood up, startling her.

“Severus, I was not aware you arrived so early.” Rodolphus was holding a book and a bottle of wine as he walked down the stairs entering the library.

“Your elves let me in.”

“A mistake.” He drawled and she turned to face the LeStrange brother

“No mistake,” She corrected. “As long as I am at Le Tourmont, you are welcome.”

When Rodolphus joined her the atmosphere relaxed a bit, and she realized that the magic in the library was  _ waiting _ for him, and the tension of the house came and went underneath the watchful presence of the family. She explained briefly what Professor Snape had told her about Moody.

He looked shocked at the implication and turned to her “I would never harm you.”

“We are well aware.” Professor Snape drawled, turning over the ledger he had and starting from the end of the book to see the dates.

“I feel so disgusting.” She admitted, staring at the equations for the wardings of the house “I was reduced to just a body among many bodies in the war. Not a student, not an ally, not even human. Bait.”

“I will no longer assist the Order,” Professor Snape cleared his throat and was speaking more to Rodolphus than to her “I would like to offer Miss Granger an apprenticeship after she completes her GECOS, I am still bound, twice over, but I cannot go through what they did to Lily again. Not with another muggleborn.”

Hermione paused her re-reading of Rabastan’s arithmancy to look up at her Professor who finally looked as tired as he sounded, two fingers at his temple, his eyes fixed at a point above her head.

“There was another?” Rodolphus shifted beside her, leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees, his face shrouded by his hair.

“Muggleborns, not as a rule, but as a principle, are not in The Order of the Phoenix, surely you noticed that Miss Granger was only allowed in due to her closeness with Potter, and of course, there was another muggleborn member with the same set of circumstances, both were sent to be killed.”

Hermione covered her mouth to prevent the gasp of surprise from coming out.

“I cannot let it happen again. If for some reason, they plan to use Miss Granger as some kind of machination against the Dark Lord, I would rather change her fate.” Professor Snape finally fixed his gaze on her “I am not a stupid man, I do not make the same mistakes twice. If I can offer you some kind of protection, I will.”

“Professor,” She said, swallowing any pity or pride or any emotion she had lest she make him uncomfortable “Are you skilled at arithmancy?”

“I saw,” He commented, picking up the top sheet “Are you attempting to fix the magic in this place? It’s  _ off _ .”

“It’s not off, it just has  _ preferences _ .” He looked up at the cavern ceilings for a moment and then he sighed “It’s probably why Father left this place to rot, the magic is unstable at best. It’s causing magic to tear through the structure like an army assault.”

Professor Snape looked at the arithmancy and then at her. “If this is the type of work you are doing Miss Granger, I will rescind my offer to tutor you.”

She huffed “That’s not even my handwriting,  _ sir _ .”

He picked up the rest of the papers, and settled into the chair. “Severus is fine, for now.”  
  


* * *

  
Severus Snape was acerbic and bitter, like black coffee, and yet necessary, as he took a red quill to Rabastan’s equations, grading them as he would a student’s and she settled into reading over the journals he brought. Rabastan was in the greenhouses today getting what Severus was actually there for, as the old greenhouse had potions ingredients that were both rare and illegal, in this case, seeds from a Venomous Tentacula so it left the three of them with a bottle of wine, the lulling melody of the library, and the scratching of pens.

“The magic on the obsidian, the original magic, is listed here as almost two thousand years. How can you be sure of this number?” He asked her, as if she had some kind of concrete answer for him.

“Yes.” Rodolphus replied.

“Impossible, it would be from Ancient Rome.”

“Yes.” Rodolphus flipped over the paper he was reading

A long silence stretched between the group and she yawned, tossing the journal she finished reading. “Will he come here? The Headmaster?”  
  
“If Potter wants you, he will fetch you.”

“That’s a bit of a strange goings on, Severus.” Rodolphus commented and finally uncorked the bottle of wine “Tell me, is it about fucking a hero, or destroying one.”

Severus quill stilled on the paper and while he didn’t move, his eyes did “Like Grindelwald.”

“Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it, and all that.” Rodolphus poured Hermione a glass of Merlot.

“Prof-Severus,” She corrected herself “Is Harry in danger?”

“The Headmaster fancies himself to be the Merlin to our King Arthur, as long as there is a King Arthur, there can be a Merlin. If that is removed, where is the Headmaster’s immortality? He is just another school administrator.”

She worried her lip and stared down at the red wine, wondering if she should bring up what really concerned her, but Severus addressed that as well.

“Grindelwald was the original King Arthur, and that failed, so he destroyed him. Dumbledore never wanted to be the hero, he wanted to be the sage in this story. No one in our society talks about some muggle king, only his advisor,  _ Merlin _ , he’s a god.”

“Where does that leave us? And Harry?”

“Fucked.”

She made a choking noise.  
  


* * *

  
Rabastan liked to touch her, to confirm with himself that she was his, and so currently she was reading over his marked up equations while he contented himself with stroking the backs of her thighs, gentle ink stained hands moving higher and higher as she fought for concentration.

“Most favorite things,” He hummed quietly, the two of them spread out in front of the fireplace in Rodolphus’ bedroom.

“Yours? Chocolat au Pain.”

“Seeing you in my robes.” 

She looked over her shoulder, the feather of the quill playing at her lips. “Teasing Severus.”

“Seeing you  _ out _ of my robes.” His lips replaced his fingers, starting at the back of her legs and she squirmed under his touch.

“Dueling.” She continued, finally ignoring his arithmancy.

“The way you watch me when you think I am not looking.” He continued, his lips trailing higher.

“Cinnamon Milk.”

“Watching my brother fuck you.”

His lips were at the edge of her white panties now and she shifted to open her legs to him. “Rabastan.” She gasped.

“Seeing the marks of my magic on your skin.” He inhaled and kissed the fabric covering her slit, it was already wet. “Marking you as  _ our _ witch.”

“Please.” She begged as his hands came to her waist, he settled himself over her.

“Would you like to know how Dolph got those marks?” He breathed in her ear, his weight over her.

She thought she would die.

“Or would you like more?”

“More.” She replied automatically, remembering the burn of his magic in her, the way her body woke up under his touch.

Fingers slid across the silken fabric of her underwear, nestling against her slit, the warmth making her head bow as she suppressed a moan. “What turns you on more, ma petit? Having two men, or having two brothers?”

“Both.” She replied looking down at the book she was supposed to be reading, the words blurring on the paper. “It’s so-”

The fingers on her slit began to move in rhythmic circles, hitting her clit and sending electric waves of pleasure to every end of her body.  
“So?” He teased, kissing her shoulder.

“ _ Wrong _ . Why do I like it so much if it’s so wrong?” The last words came out in a low moan and her toes curled

He moved his lips from her shoulder to her ear, his hot breath trailing down her neck, causing her to shiver. “Because it’s not.”

She arched into his touch as he kissed her neck, shifting so that he no longer lay beside her but almost on top of her, his fingers continuing to stroke her gently, at a teasing pace that made her hot but never satisfied. Rabastan was always gentle and kind in bed, a stark contrast to his older brother who took her until she could not remember her name. Some things were the same between the two of them, for example, they both liked it when she begged.

“Please, Rabastan.” She said trying to shift so he would be able to take her, but instead he nipped gently at her neck.

“We liked to experiment when we were younger,” Her eyes flew open at the insinuation, something so taboo she could not even speak it except in anger. A laugh stopped her next words.

His fingers stopped “With magic.”

She made a whine “Of course with magic.”

He shifted now to straddle her, bending over her body, one hand over her shoulder so that she was completely covered by him. She tried to arch up to meet him, but the devilish hand on her slit held her down so she was completely at his mercy. “And other things.”  
“Rabastan!”

The fingers began to move and she felt his other hand move to trace the curves of her body except she felt a slight buzzing to his touch and as the fingers got closer and closer to her chest she realized he was metering magic into her. A small amount of electrical shock and she could feel it now everywhere, that electric touch added a bit of pain to contrast against the pleasure between her legs.

“At first we tried to use pure magic in duels, but now you can see it is used for other, more delightful pursuits.” Rabastan kissed the top of her head “Hips up.”

She complied and the touches stopped as he knelt between her legs, her ass in the air, the skirt falling away to reveal her plain white panties. She turned back to look at the younger brother, straight hair, dark eyes, strong cheekbones and a lithe frame in his wool suit this afternoon. A hand came out to touch the back of her thigh and the familiar vibration of electricity met her skin, magic creating pleasure out of simple contact.

She shifted her legs open in response “I need more.”

“Spoiled girl.” He murmured, his fingers finally reaching the hemline again, the magic shot straight through her and she let out a low moan. It felt ten times more intense than his touch alone. “As promised, I will give-” He breathed close to her ear “- and give, and give, until I have nothing left to give you.”

Her panties were quickly pulled down and his other hand came beneath her chin, tilting her head up so her lips were close to his “Mistress of our house, marked by my magic.”

He kissed her then, a finger slipping inside of her at the same time, she was wet and wanting for him, her folds slick with want. She let out a moan into his mouth as he began to pump his fingers in and out of her, his magic filtering in through his fingers creating a delightful burn that made her hips buck every time his fingers were fully inside of her, his thumb brushing against her swollen clit.

The room had gotten extremely hot and all she could focus on were his touches, the way his cock pressed up against her bottom as he fucked her with his fingers contrasted with the searing kiss, his tongue fighting hers for dominance as she lay pliant beneath him.

He broke the kiss, moving his hand from her chin to pulling her up on all fours. “More?”

“More.” She said, looking back at him again, her hair in disarray, her eyes alight.

He kissed her bottom and then nipped at it before unbuttoning his pants, freeing his hard cock from his pants, and stroking it once, looking at the girl he seduced in his Brother’s bedroom. “I thought my brother taught you manners.”

Her eyes moved from his cock, weeping with precum to his face “S’il vous plait.” She smiled.

Hands, magic, slid up her body and she could feel his cock prodding at her entrance, and then slowly, in that teasing way, he began to slide himself inside of her. One hand reaching around to where her clit was, another grabbing a handful of her curls and he fucked her slowly. Each time he bottomed out inside of her, he stopped as she mewled his name, her orgasm building quickly underneath his skilled fingertips.

“More?” He breathed in her ear as he fucked her from behind, the pace too slow to bring orgasm, only enough to tease.

She whimpered his name “Rabastan, more.” 

An experimental tug on her hair, and she almost came for him. The sharp contrast in pain and pleasure was something she knew she wanted but did not want to voice to either of the brothers. “More?”

A smile spread across her face “Much more.”

He fisted his hand in her hair and fucked her languidly, enjoying the whimpers and moans as her orgasm built inside of her, stroking her clit until she shuddered beneath him, until she was just making strings of noises rather than words, and then he would stop suddenly, breathing her name in her ear, all sorts of possessive phrases in French that made her body weak and she knew that the next time he teased her that she would die in this room with him inside of her.

He pulled her hair, moving her head to the side and rested his lips on her jugular vein, she could feel her heartbeat pressing against his lips. “More?”

She didn’t know how to answer it. “I’m close.”  
He bit her and without warning, her orgasm burst like a dam, a cry mixed with his shout as they came together, her vision went white and all she could feel was pleasure, and warmth, and the familiar buzz of his magic.

He stroked her back to lucidity, pulling her into his arms and kissing the top of her head.

“More.” She demanded and tilted her head up.

He laughed, perhaps one of the rarest noises in Europe, and kissed her again.

“More.”

“No more!” Rabastan said, pulling her against him “I am broke, old, and tired.”

She kissed him “And mine.”

“And yours.”   
  


* * *

  
The room was cold and the fire was out, Rabastan was sleeping beside her, curled up around her protectively, like Rodolphus, he held her as if at any moment she would be stolen from him and then she heard something calling her name.

Or she thought, it  _ sounded _ like someone was saying her name, but the syllables were muffled and it was just the syllables, the way that Rodolphus often said it when he wanted something.

She got up from the floor, slipping on Rabastan’s robe that had been discarded, and padding out into the hallway. Rodolphus was not in bed, or he would have roused them. “Rodolphus?” She called into the dark, and the hallway noticed the presence and immediately lit itself in response.

Her name again, muffled, and she thought perhaps he was downstairs. She knew he had a study somewhere in the house. Was he hurt?

The only sound was her footsteps, it had to be late if even the elves weren’t scurrying around trying to clean up. As she walked through the house, her magic was greeted by the family magic, it’s customary way of letting it’s will be known, waking portraits, lighting the hall. 

She leaned over the balcony and looked down into the empty foyer. “Rodolphus?”

Her name in response, it could be, she guessed. It didn’t sound like words, just sounds that mimicked conversation. She slipped downstairs quickly, the entire house was cold, and she walked barefoot across the icy foyer, checking the doors to the house and making sure they were indeed shut.

Why was the house so cold? She turned at the sound of her name, the house flickered more lights on in response to her line of vision. She saw the wards, a purple haze, flicker in and out of existence like a candle being blown out. The last time she had seen the master of the house he was in the study connected to the cavern library, and she assumed he probably was still there, but panic, or dread, was beginning to fill her veins, as she began to move deeper and deeper into the house because even though she heard her name, she did not know if it was Rodolphus that called for her.. 

The door to the library was open, and she paused in the dead sitting room, the fire that was usually at least kindled was gone, black ashes left in the hearth, and the door was open, another uncommon feature. This time she caught her name, clearer, in the library.

“Rodolphus?” Her voice broke on his name and she stopped at the entrance to the long stairwell, flickering with warm light, inviting her down.

Something was  _ wrong _ . She knew it instinctively, and yet she started the long descent down into the caverns beneath the house, each foot drawn in front of the other, a marionette half awake, half worried that Rodolphus was hurt somewhere beneath the house.

As she descended into the library there was a heat that was missing from the rest of the house, the warmth of the LeStrange magic curled around her and tugged her forward, urging her deeper and deeper into the library. She closed her eyes to relish in the feeling, that cinnamon warmth that came from the brothers. Their embrace reminded her that she was  _ home _ .

“No,” A voice, not her own. “No, no, no.” 

Warm hands tight against her arms and she was suddenly pulled out of her satisfaction. Her eyes opened. She was before the door, Rodolphus was holding her to him, breathing heavily, fear frizzled through her.

She was two steps from the door, and the door was opened, slid sideways so that there was a crack, big enough for a body to get through into the darkness so black that no light pierced it.

She made a horrified yelp, like a wounded animal, anxiety making her chest tight and it was hard to breathe.

“The wardings broke.  _ Fuck _ , I heard them snap while I slept, I came-”

He didn’t speak and dragged her back away from the door, there was a scatter of purple light and he frantically tried to ward the door but spells fizzled.

“Hermione, did it speak to you?”

“Did  _ what _ speak to me?”

“Anything.”

“I just heard you, saying my name, I came to investigate. I felt your magic and then, I was here.”

“I was asleep in the second floor study, I fell asleep trying to straighten the accounts. Shhh, shhh, come away, we have to shut off the library.”

The library began to make the same whine as when Bellatrix had entered, the noise of a strong magic agitated, a wounded beast, begging for help. It pleaded with her, drawing her back with the scent of wood and firewhisky. She stepped away from him, towards the darkness. “What is in that room?”

“No!” He barked at her and pulled her roughly away, and began to drag her out of the library “If that magic is released, we will all be dead. We have to contain it.”

Suddenly the library was sealed and the two of them were in the dark hallway, the air was suffocating and she felt weak, her knees buckling out from underneath her. “Did it speak to you? Did it ask you?”

She felt as if the air was made out of sludge, it was hard to inhale and she fell to her hands and knees before him, the stone was rough against her skin. “What is in that room, Rodolphus?”

The walls were oppressive, and she thought she was going to be crushed by them, and she struggled to go back towards the door, possessed by an otherworldly need to go return to the door, to the comforting magic and fresh air of the caverns.

“I need to go back, I will die here.” The noises she made were piteous even to her own ears and the older man grabbed her and yanked her away from the sealed door. “Are you Hermione or are you something else?”

She began to cry, frustrated that he could think that her discomfort was due to some possession and started to push away from him “I am me! But I can’t breathe! I need air!”

“Trust me on this, come away or I will drag you away.”

She wanted to go with him. She trusted him completely but her body was not her own, the warmth of the LeStrange magic pulled her towards the door. If she got closer to the door the tightness in her chest released a little and she could inhale.

“Hermione,” He hissed, grabbing her face forcing her to look at him “Trust me, trust me more than yourself and  _ follow _ .”

Rodolphus had this kind of madness that seemed to consume her when she looked too closely, she surmised later that it was the emptiness that came with Azkaban, or the fury he kept away from her in order to not scare her, but in that moment, his fury was at its surface, the tenuous grasp he had on reality pulled her back.

“Please,” She begged him, a gasp that reminded her of the other times she had begged him. She had to trust him, this mad creature that was locked in this darkness with her, the mad creature that exposed her to the darkness of this library.

A breeze and she knew suddenly they were not alone, his eyes moved from hers and there was a brilliant light as he warded them from whatever else was in the room. Like glitter the hallway glowed, magic suspended before dimming out like fading embers.

“Child of this house.” It spoke, and it had a woman’s voice, breathy and lilting, in that French style that she admired, but it had no body, it had no location, it bounced off of the walls and the warmth of the magic, the cotton of an Imperius curse started to urge her to just  _ move _ back towards the library door.

“Hermione.” Rodolphus’ voice was sharp, and it cut through the growing cotton candy thoughts, his wand was brandished, now the only thing that kept them was a hand on her cheek.

Something spoke again, in those same muffled tones, no words but something that resembled words, music that imitated speech, and she fought to keep herself focused on the other person in with her, but it kept falling away, cotton candy padding her head and everything was becoming the morphine style of comfortable.

Another jet of light and she realized  _ he _ was speaking, the brief flicker of his lips moving in the afterglow of the curse and she was pulled back by a will that was not entirely hers. A lynx burst from his wand tip playfully turning once, and then twice before disappearing.

There was a purple haze growing in the hallway, and she tried to shake off the apathy. The wards kept building, climbing up the walls, looking for release, and then Rabastan was before her, cutting through the fog.

She woke up in the sitting room.

“We have to go.” Rabastan was urgent, bent over her, but looking up at his brother “I told you the warding on that door was going to break!”

“What cursed object is in that room? It spoke to me! It told me I had to bring her! It took over her mind, she-”

Hermione blinked and realized she was petrified.

“Our family is cursed.” Rabastan said, and shifted so that he was back on his knees, his arms crossed, his eyes wide with fear “Any woman that comes to this house is driven to madness, it is the curse! I warned you, I warned you both. It is fate. It says in the books.”

A sudden shift, an urgent whisper “We can get another house, we can get ten other houses, she is bound to us now, you marked her as you have marked me, your magic runs in her as it runs in mine.” A pause and she saw that he knelt on the other side of her “I cannot lose her, brother, I love her.”

Soft fingers against her skin.

“If it spoke to her, then it will be the same as mother. Maybe, if she hasn’t heard it yet...hasn’t formed a connection.”

“What is it?” Rodolphus insisted.

“I don’t know what it is, I thought it  _ was  _ that slab of stone, not that it was a door. A Horcrux maybe?”

“No, it moves, a spectre.”

A moment of silence while the brothers mulled over that last statement.

“What wards did you use on the library.”

“I spilled my blood, to seal it.”

Rabastan made a thoughtful noise at that. “We have to ward her in, or she will go to the caves by way of the sea.”

“Another time honored LeStrange tradition.” Rodolphus said bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I procrastinated so much on this sex scene lol.


	18. Chapter 18

She woke up again, mobile now, curled into a dozing Rodolphus as she saw the outline of Rabastan pouring over some books at the foot of her bed, even just a brief turn of her head and Rodolphus woke beside her instantly.

“Hermione,” His voice held the last vestiges of sleep, which he shook off to sit up straighter “How are you?”

“I was awake earlier,” She said, not moving to look at him, staring at the darkness of his velvet robes. “Explain yourself, or I’ll go back to England and die at the doorstep of the Order.”

“Our family is cursed.” Rabastan explained turning towards her. “I told you when you first met me.”

She sat up, realizing all she wore still were Rabastan’s robes, clothed in velvet and fury she cared little for her nakedness “I thought you meant  _ proverbially _ or  _ metaphorically _ cursed.”

“Why would I talk about a metaphorical curse!?” His voice broke.

“You said you were cursed by fate, how can you be cursed by fate?”  
  
He opened the diary of Christienne that he was reading and tossed it at her feet angrily, the last page was clearly written hastily. “Because that’s all I can find about that bloody fucking door and the madness it drives LeStrange women to. _We have been cursed by the fates for breaking our word_.”

“This is metaphorical nonsense.” She snapped and she turned to Rodolphus “You knew, you knew your mother was driven to insanity, and your wife! I am to be another, another woman that is killed either by the hands of this family, or at the hands of my lover.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I promised I would never kill  _ you _ .” Rodolphus huffed “Let us drown together and get it over with, just because I have killed a few people doesn’t mean I am instantly turned on to the idea of killing the woman I adore.”

“You released the wards on that door, Hermione.” Rabastan’s voice was serious: “Your convergence is the closest to ours.  _ You _ opened it, what came out? You had to have seen something.”

She had no memory of casting any charms, or magic, she narrowed her eyes and looked down at the diary. “Nothing, I don’t remember anything, it was like morphine.”

“Mother always said it spoke to her, the house would speak…” Rabastan trailed off.

“Child of this house.” She murmured, her anger forgotten in the wonder that magic could speak to her at all.

“So it spoke to you?”

“No, it spoke to me, she only heard it.” Rodolphus insisted, trying to spare her from a curse that clearly already had taken her over once.

“It will drive women to madness, it always does. Christienne, Grandmother, Mama, Bella, there will be no end to it. Even if it spoke to men, they do not kill themselves.” Rabastan pointed at the journal “It’s in writing.”

She knew that to get involved with the brothers was dangerous, but she didn’t realise how dangerous. How many days would it take to become Bellatrix? How many days could she go before she hung herself like their mother? She collapsed in the bed, looking now at the end of the diary of Christienne, despite being mad, she was still lucid, somewhat. There was a lot of rambling about “fate” and “destiny” but nothing completely insane, flowery language at best.

“How long?” She asked, flipping over the paper to see what was written before, it was fears for Leta, and her life in England, how she had stopped writing home.

“If we take you back to England, maybe years, I am not sure.” Rodolphus’ fingers brushed her hand “We can take aconite, the three of us.”

Her eyes moved to his hand and then to him, studying his features for sincerity in his proposed suicide pact. “If it’s a curse, can’t we ask Lucius to break it?”

There was no response, and the fire hissed and then popped. The silence was enough of an answer, either they believed there was no way to break the curse, or that Lucius was not the right person to do it.

She felt like crying, or fleeing, but the fight or flight responses jammed up, and she just sighed.

“I’ll call Lucius in the morning and have him come by, if he cannot help, then we can go to England, or to the south of France, it matters little.” Rodolphus reassured. “There is another curse breaker we know. A professional.”

“No.” Rabastan stopped him before he continued. “No, I will not bring him here, I will not bring him in front of her.”

“I don’t want to go crazy, I don’t care who it is. If he can stop it or...or even just slow it. We cannot doom another woman to this, if it is a curse that only affects women.”

“There will be no more of the house after you, ma petit.” Rabastan said quietly, while giving Rodolphus a glare. “We will call this curse breaker, he was my brother’s cell mate in Azkaban.”

“And?”

“You have met him before.”

The house gave out a howl of pain, the magic contained beneath it straining against the blood wards of the first floor, a wounded animal, the wards fizzled and popped, straining and then sagging. She buried her face in her hands, unsure for how much longer she would be able to remember this moment, before madness consumed her completely.  
  


* * *

  
Rabastan was clearly agitated the next day, he kept checking to make sure she was comfortable. She reassured him repeatedly that she was in complete control of herself and her mind, but he didn’t seem assured by it. He paced the room, and would go up and down the stairs several times before returning. 

Rodolphus had left to find a cursebreaker, and the  _ professional _ that was mentioned in the morning. He had been gone for several hours now, the sun rising high in the early January sky, and she poured over Christienne’s journal, the mother of the portrait that hung outside her room.

Leta was the first LeStrange woman to move to England to be with her uncle, her mother at the time, married to a woman and a man, stayed in LeTourmont. They could not conceive an heir, due to complications, or other issues, Christienne would not say. It was important however, that after she “had her fun” in England, that Leta returned.

Until she didn’t, Leta stayed in England with her child, the father of which was unknown. Christienne was in fits about this, there were several pages about the “cursed child” and how Leta had to find the father or else the House of LeStrange was doomed.

Hermione looked up at the snowy fields overlooking the front of the lawn, trying to swallow her irritation at Christienne who was all but dooming her child for having a child out of wedlock, which probably wasn’t even Christienne’s choice.

“Missy Mudblood, Young master. Old master is here.” Bessie looked nervous to announce anything, her ears flat.

“And guests?” Rabastan said, peering out the window.   


“In the kitchen, as requested, young master.” Bessie curtsied in her tea towel and disappeared.

She slipped off the bed, checking herself briefly in the mirror for signs of madness, and seeing none, walked to visit this master cursebreaker that scared Rabastan. She heard hushed voices, Lucius and Rodolphus arguing over something, and the creaking of the floorboards as they walked from the kitchen’s into the foyer.

Rabastan towered over her as the two of them walked down the stairs in silence, his fingertips were on the curve of her spine, leading her gently, lending her strength as the argument between Rodolphus and Lucius got louder and clearer.

Her bare feet met the cold wood of the first floor foyer. “If you have me to undo the wards then you _cannot_ redraw them.” Lucius was arguing.  
  
“I am telling you that the curse is beneath the house.” Rodolphus insisted gesturing at the floor with their hands “If we are to fix this, we have to start there.”

“Come, let me inspect you.” Lucius’ term brooked no argument, his hair pulled up haphazardly in a ponytail again, his face gaunt, his skin a greyish pale.

“What happened to you?”

“To fetch your cursebreaker, we had to return to Azkaban.” Lucius held out his hand, which shook as she offered her own. “Excellent Cursebreaker. Terrible snatcher.” He commented.

“'Dolph,” Another voice “Do you have any firewhiskey?”

She looked back to see who this cursebreaker was, the  _ professional _ and she had seen him before. Her grip tightened on Lucius’ wrist which made him exhale her name sharply in warning.

Six feet of skin and bones, a walking dementor clad in striped Azkaban robes and a tattered ashen blanket. His eyes were black and sallow, but she would never forget a face for as long as she lived.

“Dolohov,” She stepped away from him, away from all of them, she could feel the curse mark that cut down her middle radiate heat. She remembered him, a common star in night terrors, the last thing she saw before she died. The way his wand cut her down quickly.

He looked at her for a moment, studying the young LeStrange mistress who was in such finery that she probably wouldn’t recognize herself, her hair tied in a low chignon to keep it out of the way while she read. 

“I am,” He ventured cautiously, looking at Rodolphus who seemed to be frozen in the room, the whole room was, waiting for her reaction. “Antonin Dolohov, at your service, young Miss LeStrange.”

“Granger.” She corrected, fury rising as someone who so monumentally altered her entire life couldn’t even be bothered to remember her.

“Not your daughter then,” He mumbled to Rodolphus quietly, his head bowing, his stringy hair covering his face, his hands twitched.

She didn’t move, and she didn’t know how to move. His voice echoed in her head, gruff and Russian, as he sliced her cruelly down the middle. Her hand came to the scar first and she felt Rabastan’s hand running up and down her spine. 

“She’s the one who’s been cursed, yeah?” Dolohov’s voice was rough, penetrating her thoughts, the darkness of the Ministry, the smell of death clouded her mind, his hand shook and he began to draw runes on it, and the room shuddered at the foreign magic and she shied away, but Rabastan’s hand on her back held her in place.

Purple flickered in and out of existence and she felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Dolohov looked at her, and then to Rodolphus who was visibly uncomfortable. “Old curse, then. Whiskey first, chat first.”

She didn’t want to chat with him, she didn’t want to be here. A part of her told her to leave, a greater part of her told her she must stay, she must break the curse, but could she trust the man that tried to kill her once before? She felt faint and incredibly small, finally turning away from the rest of the room and she felt Rabastan’s arm come around her. “Do you need a moment?”

“I have to.” She breathed “There’s no other option.”

Antonin Dolohov, murderer, her would-be murderer perhaps, drank whiskey like it was water, downing half a bottle before he spoke another word to the group, and Rodolphus kept looking at her, waiting for her to say something, waiting for her to snap.

She wanted to, but she didn’t. Somehow the pain of being forgotten had made her mum. She sat there, her back straight, her body tense, waiting for a flicker of recognition, and unbeknownst to her, but very known to Lucius, the magic in the house was becoming thick and dense, he stayed near a cracked window, staring out over the dimming landscape.

Dolohov also noticed it. “Doesn’t like visitors.” His voice was muffled by the empty glass. “Or perhaps...Miss LeStrange doesn’t like visitors.”

“Granger.” She snapped, waspishly. Could he not be bothered to even remember her name when she was his  _ job _ .

He stared at the fire, not at her, watching the flames dance and lick up against the brick in the back of the fireplace. He had that same haunted look that Rodolphus possessed every now and then, a dimmed madness from his time in Azkaban. 

“The magic in the house is keyed to the family.” Rodolphus explained, also terse. “Especially beneath the house, it is a safety precaution, to protect the objects.”

“It’s to draw you to it, not protect it. Binding magic, not repelling. You feel sick when you leave it now.” The last sentence was slurred, and then Dolohov’s eyes fell to the glass.

She felt her heart stop. She had felt so ill when she left England, was she cursed even back then? Did it cause her to lash out at Percy?

“Draw us to  _ what _ ?” Rodolphus asked, urgently

The professional cursebreaker was passed out in the chair, his face towards the fire, the light glistening off the fine LeStrange crystal. Lucius sighed and rolled his eyes. “Get him to a room, and clean him up, we’ll try again this evening.”

“We’re on a timeline.” Rabastan said urgently “Who knows when the magic will take her mind?”

“The magic is not going to take her within the next six hours, don’t be foolish.” Lucius snapped and Rabastan stood up incensed, his wand drawn.

“You know of who he is and what he has done to her, I don’t want him in this house longer than necessary.” Rabastan pointed the wand at Lucius who grabbed the driftwood with a dirty hand.

“I was  _ there _ when he cursed her, I watched her fall, and if you don’t keep your wits about you,  _ boy _ then she will watch when I curse you.” Lucius hissed and then, seeming to remember himself. Lucius looked at his hand and frowned in disgust. “Open up a suite of rooms,  _ now _ .”

He barked this order to no one in particular but Rabastan tore his wand from Lucius’ grasp and made a move to continue the fight, but Hermione stilled him, sensing that this was going to unravel into more than just words.

“You forget yourself.” Lucius spat at Rabastan, finally turning away from him and following Hermione out of the room.

The elves were waiting in the hall, as they always did and she made it a point, knowing she had numbered days to study their features. She opened Rabastan’s room, which was in disuse since they had begun all sleeping in the master bedroom. Something she blushed at remembering.

“Is it so bad?” Lucius said quietly and she looked up at the man who was standing in the guest bedroom, his hands shaking and she remembered that even the Malfoy Patriarch was weak against the dementors of Azkaban.

“My curse, or yours?” She asked cheekily and it earned her a glare.

“Rabastan is barely sane at the best of times.” He chuffed and Bessie handed her some towels and soaps and she placed them on the bed “When it comes to you men lose their minds.”

“And soon, I will lose mine.” She said studying the monogram on the linens an intertwined LS “According to this curse.”

“Is it a curse?” He asked studying her “Did you feel it cast? Rodolphus was not entirely forthcoming.”

“For good reason, Lucius. If we had you cure me, we’d lose the house in repayment.”

He let out a breath of laughter. “Clever.”

She flashed him a smile and leaned against the doorway. “None of us have slept much, including you, let’s meet over dinner, and if I am insane, then I will be in good company.”

“Yes, they do seem rather fond of you.” Lucius disappeared into the bathroom and there was a sudden rush of water running.  
  


* * *

  
If the curse had taken hold of her, it was a kind curse, she thought as she stood in the greenhouse with an angry Rabastan who was pruning a Devil’s Snare into less of a Snare and more of a stick. His anxiety made him withdraw from the rest of the house, whether it was over the curse or the presence of the cursebreaker she could not be sure.

“Mother was an herbologist, she had her mastery.” Rabastan said with a shaky exhale finally after an hour of silence. “She came back to the continent to study under a master here, and the family eventually migrated back. She said once she saw the house she fell in love, and father came after.”

“There is not much greenery to study here in Belle-Dunne.” Hermione said finally sitting down across from him at the workbench.

“There is gold, which my father had.” One of the vines of the Devil’s Snare curled and grew around his finger as he tried to tie it to a trellis “Which funds masteries in fields like Herbology, which is done for love and not for money. I also have my mastery in Herbology, an heir’s hobby, I got my mastery before Rodolphus needed my help in England, and we were both torn from LeTourmont, that’s when she started to hear things.”

He turned the Devil’s Snare which was about three feet high in it’s earthen pot towards her and a vine reached out. “It consumed her, whatever it was, and she was left weak, and drugged up on a thousand potions to keep her mind.”

A long pause came between them, before Hermione spoke. “If we spoke with the spectre-”

“Dolph contacted Severus about brewing some potions to keep you lucid, but I don’t remember how long it was with maman, she was fine, and then at Christmas, she suddenly was not.”

“Your family was cursed,” She said hotly “We need to understand the curse. Don’t you have a portrait of your mother? Are you intent to drug me until whatever curses take hold?”

Rabastan looked up from the overly pruned plant and at her for a moment an unfamiliar expression passed over him. Sadness. “Due to madness, no portrait was painted of maman.”

“Are we to wait for me to die?” She felt tears sting her eyes and the house shuddered in response, she wasn’t entirely sure that this by itself was not madness, but Rabastan looked up past her and stopped his fussing over the plant to look at the brick of the manor.

Not an apparition then, a reality. “Lucius and Dolph must be working against the magic of the house.”

“Why does Lucius help so much?”

“When I was in my second year of Hogwarts, Lucius was married to Narcissa, and became next in line for the fortune.” A tendril of plant wrapped around his wrist and made him pause as he disentangled himself from it “Abraxas tended to drive him to drink, and when Narcissa could no longer handle him, he was dumped at our doorstep. You would have good company with early twenties Lucius, ma petit, as he knew every opium den in Paris.”

The thought of the most feared and respected Governor at Hogwarts being a washed up drunk and and frequenting opium dens. “Lucius Malfoy?”  
  
“We have our pasts.” He finally bagged up the trimmings from the plant and tied it shut, the bag writhed with the tentacles. “Even now I can’t stand the smell of licorice, he would always vomit absinthe.” Here he gagged “Now he’s paying back some longstanding debts. Come, let’s go, Severus should be here soon.”

“Rabastan,” She said as they walked back from the greenhouses, down long empty hallways “You said it spoke to you, the library.”

“After Dolph was married, it simply asked, asked without words, and it kept asking, it still does. It wants something.”  
  
“What?”

They turned the corner and entered the kitchens where a chorus of elves cheerfully announced their good afternoons and began to ready some cheese and breads.

“Another.”

* * *

  
She studied Dolohov to the point where she was sure that even after her mind was gone she would remember everything about him.

He was sober now, and hungry, gaunt and haunted. He stared not at her but his plate, and she knew he was aware of her stares. The men at the table were silent, waiting for her to speak and yet she elected to say nothing. Something deep within her kept calling out to the Azkaban escapee that sat at her table, willing for him to remember her and what he had done to her, but as dinner passed, there was no justice for all of her glaring.

Trifle was served and Bessie was doling out servings for everyone when Dolohov finally spoke. “When?”

“Twenty hours ago.” Rodolphus said eagerly, glad to finally speak. “Maybe less.”

“If it is as Malfoy said the curse has been on her for much longer.” He pointed the fork at Rodolphus “He said you looked sick on New Years. That’s a week.”

“I am telling you it is a binding curse.” Lucius said haughtily “First mudblood to  _ consummate _ with an ancient family, it’s a wonder she isn’t dead.”

“Says the ponce who won’t even investigate the source of the curse.” Dolohov muttered and Lucius slammed his fork down.

“You are here because of  _ me _ , Rodolphus has patience for you, but I do not.” Lucius got up suddenly from the table, knocking into it and jolting their wine glasses, Hermione caught hers from tipping over. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Hermione followed Lucius to the foyer where he took his cloak from one of the elves, mumbling a few choice words about  _ manners _ .

“I know I am in your debt, girl.” He finally said, addressing her “Dolohov brings out the worst in us all.”

“You are in no debt to me,” She said walking towards the door with him to see him out and paused, a few feet away from the door “He just doesn’t remember me, even you remember when he cursed me. I cannot sit with him.”

“Azkaban takes your mind. Dolohov was in there longer than any of us, and returned there after the break out. It is why no one is saying much, there is a madness there, a madness that is in all of us now. No one really cares about what happens after Azkaban, and now we all are faced with it.”

“Madness?”

“Exposure.” Lucius eyes held that same simmering insanity that came to Rodolphus from time to time and her breath caught, but he looked away, aware of the shame that came with the Malfoy name, and knowing that a moment of weakness could get him killed in this game. “I must go.”

She was left alone in the foyer, watching Lucius take two steps into the snow and then disappearing. She, and many other people had never thought of what it meant to leave Azkaban, even Hagrid had come back shaken and withdrawn after only a few months there. Years, and in some cases decades. She closed the door with a  _ snick _ , resting her forehead against it. A part of her, the part that felt bad for house elves, and volunteered to take prefect duties, wanted to forgive Dolohov, but a larger part of her, the part that couldn’t stop forgetting the way he sliced her open cruelly, did not.

She felt the foyer grow cold and then there were footsteps. She stood upright, resting her fingertips along the wood, trying to prepare a litany of excuses as to why she could not be at dinner, or why she could not be around Dolohov, 

Firewood and cinnamon, the briefest warmth of Rodolphus as he came close to her, a hand on her waist, and the other on the small of her back as he leaned over her and kissed the crown of her head, he hummed for a moment, understanding all there was to understand without words. “I believe we need something  _ tactile _ , do you agree?”

She was sitting on a stump watching Rodolphus pick up a log and place it on another stump nearby her. “He’s mad.” She said kicking at some snow.

“Of course he is.” Rodolphus looked at her and then picked up the axe “I remember that madness well. Dementors suck out happiness, this is true, but for years you cannot form a coherent thought, because after awhile coherence is happiness, consciousness is happiness, the longer you are exposed, the lower your expectations are for happiness, the more thoughts the Dementor has to feed on, until you have nothing left, no coherence. This is the Azkaban Madness.”

“This is what Lucius meant by  _ exposure _ .”

“Lucius has never been graceful in his suffering.” The axe came down with a  _ thock  _ and the wood fell into the snow, where Pierrot gathered them. “Madness or not, there is some Antonin left, and he is right, it is a compulsion curse.”

“The voice-”

He froze “Has it spoken to you again?”

“No!” 

He exhaled, a cloud of hot air floating away in the last vestiges of sunlight on the side of the house. “When it gets to be too much, ma petit, tell us. Potions...or aconite even.”

“It’s not much at all, I just feel like-” She huffed “It doesn’t  _ feel _ dark. Even when I was in it’s grip that night, it felt comforting and warm. Not like-” Here she touched the curse scar on her torso “Not like this.”

“Compulsion curses are not painful at first, or else why would you be compelled?” Another  _ thock  _ as the wood split and the axe drove itself into the stump and he began to wiggle it idly, staring at her.

“It’s your family magic. I know it is, Rodolphus. It felt like  _ you _ .” She put her head on her hand and stared out over the English channel, her lips set into a thin line, she could hear the song of the library, distant, cut in and out by the sound of the waves and she steadfastly ignored it. 

“Ma petit fleur, that is  _ exactly _ why I do not trust it.”

“Why?”

“How would you feel if the woman  _ you _ loved was seduced away by some creature using your magic?” He scoffed and then held the axe high “No.”

_ Thock _ .

Pierrot has a bundle of logs and she looked up at Rodolphus who also was staring out over the sea, and she knew he heard it too, a siren call, a whisper on the wind from the house below, begging for them to come closer, to hear it clearer.

“This can’t continue, the diaries mentioned Leta, we need to speak with her.” Hermione said softly.

A wind picked up her hair and he sighed. “The portraits, all of them, have fled. We are alone with no guidance. Rab says they have fled to the library to hide from the curse. You asked him for maman, but she was not painted. There is no one.”

“The books are all sealed in the library.” She said standing up and taking two steps towards the song.

“I will ward you into the house if you go any further.” Rodolphus warned, the axe slung over his sholuder.

She was well out past the garden now, at least twenty steps from him. Terror gripped her. She didn’t remember a single step.

She looked up at the grey January skies, and came to the stark realization that madness was not going to be something like a sickness. There was no feeling, it came quietly, with no warning. It infected her with no symptoms. Despite their promises, the LeStrange brothers could not help her.

No portraits, no books. She was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've taken a long and winding road to get here, and some of my usual suspects (Dolohov, and soon Yaxley) will be dropping by for a bit before we meet with Dumbledore. I feel like I've been mega transparent about what is behind the obsidian door, but that will also be within the next chapter or so.


	19. Chapter 19

She picked at breakfast, a greater part of her trying to determine if she had gone mad yet as Rodolphus read the papers next to her. The air at breakfast was thick as Dolohov ate with them. She felt sick being so close to him and it was starting to wear on Rabastan who was agitated and twitchy, unable to settle into his calculations of the curse on the obsidian door down below. The house sighed as she shifted in her seat, the hum of magic dipping in response to her malaise.

Dolohov’s eyes snapped up to hers. “You’re magic, then?”

“What?” She wanted to be offended, trying to run through a thousand ways it could be taken. “Of course I’m magic.”

“The curse, it’s tied to  _ your _ magic.” He said, stabbing at some eggs violently.

“It’s the family magic.” Rodolphus sighed and flipped the page, “It’s trying to escape the wards.”

“Don’t be stupid, Dolph, it’s tied to  _ her _ magic. Her moods, her likes and dislikes. I can feel it tickling at my skin. Obviously Miss LeStrange doesn’t like me, and the whole house is trying to kick me out to please her.”

“Granger.” Rabastan corrected before she had a chance to “I can’t imagine why our Hermione isn’t your biggest fan.”

“It desires her, but it is not hers.” Rodolphus said “A spectre that lives in the library has cursed her with it. I have seen it. I told you so last night.”

Rodolphus clearly was also irritated at their guest, and Rabastan passed her a small missive from Severus that told her to expect guests in two days' time. Hermione studied the scrawl, spiky and quick, probably torn off of a greater essay, by the looks of the cut off letters at the tear. “Do you know when I will go mad? I want to prepare. Lucius said-”

“You are not cursed.” Dolohov said “This house is cursed, something activated by your presence, but there is no curse on you, Miss LeStrange”

She wasn’t sure how to take the news, she didn’t trust Dolohov a whit.

“Is the house attacking her?”

“No,” He ate another forkful of eggs and Hermione put the scroll down finally “She has been living here for a week?”

“Five months.”  
  
“Then it is a compulsion curse, it wants her.”

Rodolphus, now disinterested in the paper “Because of her blood?”

“What else could it be?” Dolohov got up and grabbed his wand that was sitting next to the plate at the table and Hermione flinched.

He looked at her strangely, searching her face with his eyes that seemed to see absolutely nothing of her. “Granger.” He said finally, bidding her farewell and Hermione let out the breath she was holding as he left the dining room.

Sometimes you needed bravery just to attend breakfast.  
  


* * *

  
She walked back and forth in front of a few portraits in the upper wing that she knew usually had people within it, trying to tease them back to the frames, but she knew that none would appear, she lingered every so often in front of a still life with fruit, a portrait that she found belonged to Christienne LeStrange, the journal writer that went mad. She could hear Rodolphus discussing something a bit further down the hall with their unwelcome guest. The words were not discernible, just the timbre of his voice muffled through the wood.

Rabastan came out of the study first, clearly peeved, and caught sight of her in a billowing white nightgown, a spectre of their own design, standing in front of a wall of empty frames. “Ma petit, come along, we have news from England.”

“Severus-”

“Not that news,” He took her hand “Word has reached our Lord on Dolohov.”

A long pause between the two of them as she allowed herself to be led further down the hallway and back into the master bedroom. The thought of Voldemort made her mouth ashen dry, she swallowed.

“Your Lord,” She clarified.

“We will be gone today.” He wheedled on this, stepping back and looking her over once “If anyone comes to the house, you must not show yourself.”

“Why?”

“I have reason to believe we are being tested. We have been absent,  _ Bella _ has been absent, and with Dolohov- suspicions have been cast.”

She looked down at the carpet, tracing the floral patterns with her eyes. “By?”  
  
“Bella’s lover.”  
  
For some reason she was angry at the fact that Bellatrix _had_ a lover other than Rodolphus, outraged for the man who was just down the hall who ended up murdering her for _his_ lover. To take someone when you already had a LeStrange seemed strange to her, all of this came out in a strangled “Who?”

“Rosier.”  
  
Another murderer. Another murderer like them. Her stomach turned at the realization of the company she now kept, but she swallowed it. She knew who she was dealing with when she came here, but for some reason, to know that Rosier was close to them made her come to terms with the men in this family.  
  


* * *

  
In the silence of the house she could hear the call of the library, logically she knew it was only the hum of magic, but she could swear it was her name from time to time. This thought frightened her enough to seal the bedroom shut and ward herself in. She found if she listened to the library’s song it would lure her towards it, gaps in her memory as something  _ other _ tried to coax her towards it.

Christienne’s journal went on and on about her daughter’s  _ poor choice of company _ but Christienne was deliberately vague about Leta and the life she led in England, but the increasing hints of desperation in the writing was no mistake. The “rebellious teenage years” turned into “obstinacy” and “ruination” as Leta got older and Christienne for some reason knew that time was running out on her life, constantly writing about her upcoming fate as if it was a given.

As the sun hung lower and lower in the sky, the shadows growing long, she broke away from the bleak account of Christienne’s final days to go tend to the fire, a distraction that Rodolphus would call “tactile.” She didn’t want to think of all the ways that her life had changed in the past six months but couldn’t find words to describe it. Bedded, cursed, betrayed. She wondered if Harry and Ron even bothered to think of her anymore, or if she was just another convenient sacrifice in the war against the Dark Lord.

Her robes were not her own, despite a slew of fineries bought by Rodolphus days prior, she could not touch them, afraid of finally becoming something other than Hermione Granger, but Hermione LeStrange. She wore Rabastan’s robes instead, his smell of parchment and firewhiskey lingered on the velvet and she moved to stand at the window, watching the endless field of snow for some company that never came. Harry would be here in a few days, and she knew he would be disgusted in her if he knew the depth of her devotion to the men that shared her bed every night. She was in all sense the mistress of the household but in her own mind she was still a student, a muggleborn, a child of two dentists that couldn’t remember her name.

There was a clatter in the hallway and she looked up from the endless glittering white fields before her to see Bessie and Pierrot standing guard over her. “Dolohov?”

Bessie disappeared and reappeared within twenty seconds and nodded. “Bad guest, master guest drinks all the whiskey, makes messes always.”

“Dolph?” A voice called out in the hall and she made a noise of irritation at the drunken man in the hallway just on the other side of her wards which started to glow at the presence of another mage.

“Mistress should we send him away?”

Fear bubbled up inside of her, if he had tried to kill her, who knows what he would do to the elves “No. Let’s stay silent.”

She moved away from a door and towards the far end of the room, a fear so primal within her that it made her heart race. If Dolohov suddenly remembered her in this moment, she would be dead.

“Ro-Dolph-Us Le-Strange.” Every syllable enunciated with a kind of wicked pleasure “You’ve been putting sleeping potions in my whiskey.” A polite three knock “Come out and face me instead of poisoning me.”’

“Je chercher notre maître” Pierrot said and suddenly disappeared.

In hindsight, she wished she understood more French, because if she had asked where he went, she would not have tried to duel a very drunk, and very angry Antonin Dolohov.

The wards, a simmering lavender as the man in the hallway began to pick them apart like cobwebs, held for all of a few moments and she waited with her wand drawn at the main doors to the master suite.

When a door banged open she flicked a  _ Stupefy _ at Dolohov who dodged it with ease, but did not curse back, instead advanced upon her in a stumbling manner that made it hard for her to detect which way he would sway, she erected another set of wards before sending out another stunner and was rewarded with the red flicker of a wandless and wordless  _ Crucio _ that battered against her  _ Protego _ . 

“A ghost,” He murmured, getting closer to her, so close she could smell the FireWhiskey on his breath.

She stepped backwards and flicked her wand for an  _ Expelliarmus  _ that landed, but it became immediately apparent that Dolohov used a wand out of habit and not of necessity. He swiped his finger in a downward diagonal, returning her disarming curse with his own, a dark curse that made stomach tie itself in knots just being close to the light of it, it hit the back wall and the wallpaper began to melt into black tar. If that curse would have landed on her she would be nothing more than a puddle.

Dolohov didn't even seem to notice the curse had been cast. His eyes black and unfocused. Azkaban Madness would kill her, she scrambled out of the way as he stumbled and hit the wall that was now warping and bubbling a disgusting hiss as the curse continued to eat away at the wood. Suddenly the room began to melt around her, the walls puddling at her feet, leaving thick black sludge where they used to be. The wallpaper warped and crept closer to her like pudding and then curling and burning. She worked her way towards the door, black tar rushing towards her like waves on the ocean shore and she feared it would swallow her whole. Impossible! Her mind started to scream at her this had to be a curse, this had to be the madness of the library. She could only try what she knew, he wand pointed at herself: “ _ Finite Incantum _ .”

The room swirled in and out of her vision and she knew that whatever madness the house had taken her wholly all at once, but from the looks of things it had swallowed Dolohov in it’s wake. Darkness came for her, crawling up her legs in some kind of strange magnetism, a thousand tentacles of darkness and then suddenly ebbed.

“Hermione,” The house called, a voice that was far away, the library’s song had a voice finally. She knew it was coming for her, this was the madness.

“No!” She shrieked, trying to move away from the tar that was swelling and filling the room, eating the floor around her in sickening black blobs that lurched towards her with every inhale. The house would swallow her whole. Alone, alone and dying with some drunk who tried to kill her once before.

“Hermione!  _ Stupefy _ !”

She closed her eyes waiting for the curse to land and the house to finally swallow her with her next breath. Nothing landed, her feet were cold.

She turned around to see Rodolphus alone, his wand drawn. “The room it is-”

Normal, it was all disgustingly normal. The walls had the lurid florals, and plush carpeting, ostentatious wood carvings and a small fire.

Dolohov was unconscious next to the fire.

A ghost, he had said. She certainly felt like one.

Was she even still alive at this point? She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, the bright spots a comfort that she wasn’t dreaming and felt two strong arms around her. Rodolphus breathed her name again “Hermione, Pierrot said-”

“I’m going mad.” She breathed “I thought-”

“It is not madness,” Rodolphus lied, he smelled like blood. She didn't want to ask if it was his own or another's. “It is a curse that he is fond of. It is  _ not _ madness.”

“How can you be sure?”

"Listen to me Hermione, you are _not_ mad. Not yet, there is still time." A clatter in the hallway made her breath hitch and she was gathered tightly into Rodolphus embrace. “Rabastan, get him out of here. Lock him in his room.”

“Petit?” He asked and then there was a string of French curses as he saw what had happened.

Dolohov would have killed her again if he was given the chance, over and over again in her nightmares, and now her nightmares mingled with reality, as they slept down the hall from her.

She had to find Leta before she lost her mind.  
  


* * *

  
Disentangling herself from Rodolphus and Rabastan, who sandwiched her in their large four poster bed, she slipped out into the hallway, her wand lit as she padded barefoot through the cavernous and dark hallways of the mansion, avoiding the creaky floorboards so she was unseen and went downstairs to her old room.

“Leta!” She hissed at the empty painting “Leta LeStrange!”

She wasn’t going to take potions. She wasn’t going to wait for her one time murderer to drink himself to death in this dreary old house. “Leta! Come out and face me!”

She was going to ask the only painting she had ever seen, her guardian and constant companion to explain at once what the curse was and how she succumbed to it so Hermione could avoid the same fate. Cold air blew by her and she moved to grab her robes tighter around her to shut out the chill. “Cowardly portrait,” She huffed and started to move from frame to frame, trying to see if  _ any _ person would talk to her in the paintings “Leta! I am cursed too, please at least tell me what to expect.” She begged holding her wand up to a rather large landscape painting of the south of France.

“Girl.” A gruff voice said and she whirled to see Antonin Dolohov, a hulking shadow in the hallway, and she felt the siren magic of the library that now was only six feet away from her. “You’re the one.”

“I am.” She replied, relieved that he finally remembered who she was from the Department of Mysteries “I am the one you tried to kill.”

The shadow of Antonin Dolohov dropped a bottle and it shattered on the floor. “Come, we must go.”

Something moved in the portrait beside her and she turned to catch it, thinking it was possibly a person and a hand wrapped in her hair suddenly. “My mistake,” Dolohov’s voice was hoarse from disuse or whiskey she wasn’t sure.

She yelped and her hand flew to his as she tried fire off a  _ Diffindo _ , but Dolohov already had her hair, and could direct her body as he wished. An empty landscape painting blew into pieces, the canvas and it’s wooden frame raining down on the two of them. 

She kicked him and missed, her foot catching on glass and slipping through her skin easily, a searing white hot pain as she put weight on the cut and Dolohov began to drag her further towards the library, the wards in the hallway pulsing in warning, a deep purple that was almost black. She kicked and shouted but he took no heed, dragging her behind him like an old toy, her feet trying to gather purchase on the hardwood, slick with her own blood, to prevent all of her hair from being yanked out of her skull.

The sitting room door slammed open at she finally swung her wand around enough that she nicked him with a cutting curse, but he did not react, drunk or insane she wasn’t sure. “Let me go or I will kill you before Rodolphus has a chance!” She screamed hoping that someone in this house could hear her.

She passed through the blood wards of Rabastan LeStrange which barely reacted to her presence and instead of stopping either of them, let them in with a soft sigh, a welcoming reaction of the curse of the library beneath and she could see as she struggled that there was a long black glittering trail of her own blood on the hardwood floor.

Feeling the familiar warmth of the curse, and the way it made her thoughts slow down she knew she had to escape this room, or she would be dead. Hermione took her wand and pointed it over her head and hissed angrily through her pain  _ “Crucio _ ”

The room glowed red and she could feel the curse hitting by the momentary stutter of Dolohov’s pace towards the library floor, but he did not react under her curse, except for flexing his fingers slightly in her hair, and continued to drag her across the carpet

Inhuman! How could he act as if she barely even touched him. She screamed the curse again, her arm vibrating with the energy it took to execute such dark magic, her mind beginning to cloud with the curse of the library, purple and red mixing in the room, filling up her sight like fog.

She shot off her patronous and twisted around so she was no longer being dragged across the floor, standing as tall as she could get, bent over and limping as Dolohov pulled her closer and closer to the library.

“Come along.” He kept repeating, his voice would occasionally break and then suddenly she felt the second wards pop and the house around them seemed to ease, a pressure that broke “Come along, girl.”

She sliced him with a cutting curse to his leg, but he did not react and her eyes widened in shock, was this the exposure that Lucius warned her about or a deeper madness that made him invincible.

A last surge of adrenaline filled her, the fear of the invincible murderer that she insisted on being in her house, whatever curse was lying beneath this house, the pain that was so powerful she swore her foot was going numb. She yanked herself away with a shout and collapsed on the rug, crawling away from Dolohov and back through the wet trail of her blood.

Fingers grabbed the fine carpets, pulling them up as Dolohov grabbed her again, wrenching her ankle painfully. “Cursed girl, we must go to the library.”

“ _ Avada Kedavra! _ ” She screamed pointing her wand backwards and the room glowed green but the hand around her ankle did not slack.

The shadow of Antonin Dolohov sagged over her, but did not fall, instead his head fell backwards and his one arm moved unnaturally, the purple wards shuddered and began to grow brighter as he dragged her back into the room.

“Come along,” The voice was no longer his, a feminine voice, the voice of the curse, and the LeStrange magic swept around her, warmth like a fire on a cold night, comforting her and dulling her mind. “Come along, girl.”

He dragged her like a dead blanket, her hands shielding her from the flagstones as they descended deeper into the library, adrenaline gone, everything hurt, every step Dolohov worsened her injuries and the magic was making it harder and harder to stay awake. 

“Leave me alone,” She cried, pulling away again as she fell down another set of stairs behind whatever Antonin Dolohov was, not human, not ghost, some kind of monster that had come from her nightmares to reality. “Gods, let go of me!”

And in a burst of light, the library door was pushed open, she was covered in small scrapes and scratches from the hard stone hallway that led into the library and she saw that the magic of the library, sealed in, was blinding, the torches lapped eagerly at the stone walls, dancing in welcome for the witch that had forsaken them.

She grabbed onto the door jamb with one hand and cursed Dolohov again, this time she saw the jet of green that left her wand make its mark, a green haze filling up the library but this time, Dolohov didn’t even sag, just continued to move her forward, yanking her so hard, her head bounced off the stone step like a basketball, her vision temporarily blinkered and then her fingers let go of the door and she was now truly dead weight.

_ Ding _ the Star Gauge was close by, she was having trouble breathing now.  _ Ding _ another favorable fate.  _ Ding _ she heard her name.  _ Hermione _ , the Star Gauge whispered in her ear, a light noise, like birdsong,  _ Ding _ ,  _ Hermione _ .

It was cold all of a sudden, icy cold. “Hermione!” Rodolphus was hoarse and she opened her eyes to see darkness, she could hear it now, waves lapping at the shore, but there was no night sky, no wind, just the push and pull of white noise. Was she blind? 

“ _ Avada Kedavra _ !” 

No, she was not blind, a green haze lit up the room, sickly in pallor, reflecting off the walls of the cave, they were no longer in the library, no books, just stone and crevasse for the curse to nestle in as it dispersed.

She had killed Antonin Dolohov several times over, and now he would kill her. Some duelist she turned into. The waves were getting louder, and she made a whining noise, starting to feel dizzy from blood loss and from the acoustics of the room, a strange humming whine like machinery.

“ _ Lumos Maxima _ .”

“Rodolphus.” She choked, grabbing onto a stone wall weakly nearby her.

“Hermione!” Rabastan’s voice was clear and she could now see where they were clearly, overlooking a black icy pool of water to her left, they were in a large black cave, it’s roof so high she couldn’t even see where the dome ended and they were going towards a small outcropping above the icy waters.

It struck her that now Dolohov was going to finish the job and kill her, or perhaps this whole thing was a nightmare. In her last bits of reason, she decided it was a nightmare and that no one could survive multiple Killing Curses. “Please,” She begged herself “Let me wake up from this.”

An icy wind blew past her and the Lumos Maxima started to burn brighter and brighter, she was seeing spots in her eyes where the light had burned into her retinas and her fingers were losing purchase on the rocky wall as Dolohov dragged her.

“I cannot!” It was Rodolphus who responded to her pleas and she squeezed her eyes tightly, putting more “I cannot pay this price!”

Someone was speaking and Hermione struggled to focus but her head was throbbing painfully and the words were not clear, it sounded as if someone was speaking in another room and then suddenly as she focused she realized it was Dolohov speaking away from her.

“You all will pay.”

“She is an innocent.”

“She is marked!”

And her fingers were cruelly yanked away by Dolohov, the black rings of Rabastan’s magic on her wrist held up as proof that her death was just. It took perhaps four seconds to die, maybe less, because she was tossed cruelly over the ledge and into the inky sea water below.

Winter water enveloped her easily, so cold it burned on contact and it took her a moment to register the pain, consciousness came and went, the concussion from earlier making it hard to remember to stay awake. The cuts on her foot no longer bothering her because her body was beginning to numb, and she was sure her heart was beginning to still.

An underwater choir began to sing her name, briefly she thought it was angels.

_ Ding _ .  _ Hermione _ , the Star Gauge sang. Birdsong warped and echoing underneath the waves

_ Ding _ . 

Fate was sealed.

Hands began to grab at her, pulling her downwards, the air burning in her chest and then she reached upwards trying to find help that was not going to come.

Something was ringing in her ears, the choir ceased it’s song, and there was another brightness of a lumos being cast beneath her.

The water was no longer cold, and strands of light began to filter past her like seaweed it swayed with the waves, sometimes getting close but never touching her, they curled and dimmed as they left her, she fell further, her hair twisting around her in protection and then suddenly the hands pulling her down yanked her from the pool.

“Welcome fate.” A woman’s voice said as she crested the surface.  
  


* * *

  
Antonin Dolohov was laying next to her on the shore when she woke, wisteria trees surrounded the two of them and a dull purple glow eminanted from the purple flowers that hung there. She moved her hand gingerly to touch him, and felt that his chest was rising and falling beneath her hand.

Her eyes moved from her murderer two times over to see that the LeStrange brothers were further off, partially obscured by the glowing purple flowers of the wisteria tree that hung over her.

“It is the  _ duty _ of this family to serve as the three fates that govern mortals until they can beget an heir to take up the task.” A woman was speaking to the two of them but she could not see them. “The LeStrange family has failed in this duty for two generations starting with one Leta LeStrange who fled this duty.”

Hermione crawled closer to see who was speaking, the sand beneath the tree giving way underneath her knees, getting into small scrapes and scratches that came from her long journey. Her night robes now clean, but her hair still wet, hung limply around her.

She stumbled to her feet and walked towards the voices, the glass in her foot making it hard to do anything but limp towards them, trying to catch herself on the wisteria flowers that hung in her face, but they dashed away under her touch, glowing gently in irritation under her touch.

Three woman stood at the shore, all were glowing with starlight, the water lapping at their feet. They looked to be suspended in age, their clothing was traditional in the Greek style, soft diaphanous white gowns that moved with the waves of the shore, as if they were made from the seafoam. One was tall and lithe, another short and stocky, and the third was elderly and thin. All had curly hair like hers pinned up in various styles. Their ghosts were not white as the ghosts of Hogwarts, but the purple of the magic of the house. “The spinner has awoke.”

Rabastan suddenly moved towards her. He was as wet as she was, the water dripping down his hair that was sticking to his face. “Come, ma petit, the fates want to speak with you.”

“She is fate now.” The second sister replied happily.

Magic swirled around her, the purple wisteria that hung above her head was buffeted around and swung lazily and then the pain was gone. “She is your spinner, level headed and wise.” The second woman, who wore a crown made from one of the rings of the Star Gauge pointed at her “The younger brother will be the decider, and you, obstinate patriarch of this family, are judgement.”

Rodolphus was not paying much attention to the fates that stood before them, and instead was taking off his robes to clothe Hermione who was being checked over by Rabastan. A heavy cloak fell upon her shoulders.

Hermione finally looked up at the two of them and realizing that no one was harmed turned to the three fates. “You could have killed me.”

“The LeStrange family made a trade 2000 years ago, to preserve their line they would take on our duties, to hold knowledge to make the decisions on mortals, and cast judgement. For the past three generations, there has been no family presiding over the fates and the LeStrange line would end with the third.”

“Until she was marked.” Rabastan said, massaging the black marks on her wrist.

“She was your third, the other witch would not take another.” The third witch said and laughed “I forced your hand, younger brother, to take another.”

“I heard.” Rabastan sounded annoyed “Unceasingly, I heard.”

“I forced this drunk to bring her, twiceover, no curse will snap his fate as he is in service to the Gods. No curse will break  _ your _ fate either.” The fate continued, seemingly pleased with herself. “You now are in service to the Gods, to break this pact will break your mind first.”

“To intervene on the fates of those who outlived their threads. To spin new fates, and then to decide on them, to judge those whose fate is left to judge, and to  _ cut _ fate when it is time.”

“To kill?” Hermione asked.

“You withheld the spinner, as your ancestors have done before, the spinner must be given to the waters, or the pact is not completed.” The first sister said. “The younger brother is the decider, and the elder brother, for willfully ignoring us, is the judge.”

“Once you accepted the spinner into this house, our magic was free to possess this drunkard in order to bring her to the waters.”  
  
“We will no longer intervene.”

The three apparitions, spectres, whatever they could be called disappeared so quickly she thought they were imagined. Darkness fell over them, save for the soft glow of wisteria that hung around them in curtains. “Gone?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Gone.” Rodolphus said and cursed under his breath, a wave crashed against the shore.

The three of them, and an unconscious Dolohov sat on the floor of the Star Gauge room, it whirred and clicked happily, no longer intermittent, like a dog greeting it’s master that had returned home from a long journey. She held her head in her hands staring at the sleek stone floors of the library, trying to gather her wits.

“What does this mean?” She asked incredulously. “Is this the madness you told me about?”

Rodolphus stroked her back, his fingers counting the vertebrae in her spine. “No, I don’t think so. If it is madness then we are mad together.”

“The spinner, the assessor, and the judge. The three fates that preside over us all. The spinner creates life and destiny, the assessor determines how long someone’s life is, and the judge cuts life off.” Rabastan said with a sigh “This is what the diary meant. It wasn’t a cursed fate, it was cursed by  _ the _ fates.”

“What did the LeStrange family trade for the high privilege to be ordained murderers?” Rodolphus drawled.

Hermione gestured around them “It’s obvious, isn’t it? What the Dark Lord and Dumbledore both coveted. This library, and all that’s within it. Only, because no one had served the fates, your father had no idea what he possessed. It was just some cursed antique shop.”

“Dumbledore wants the gauge.” Rodolphus said looking at it, whirring and dinging like a songbird at dawn. “What does the Dark Lord want?”

“He doesn’t know, he’s consumed in petty plots and planning.” Rabastan waved it off “England is his only desire, and soon his death.”

“Dumbledore will be here soon, in two days time with Harry” Hermione said finally getting to her feet and the Star Gauge reacted to her presence, glowing softly and then suddenly, a thread began to orbit it’s outer ring, purple and blue, like the wisteria below.

She looked back to see the two other brothers, utterly tired and defeated resting against each other on the back wall. She walked closer to her Star Gauge and saw now that it was not one thread orbiting, spun up like cotton candy, but two individual threads, one purple, and one a white hot blue.

She pulled at it, and instinctively knew it belonged to Dumbledore, for some reason the memory was so strong she could practically smell his office: sugar and dust. It cut at her finger as it continue it’s orbit, hot friction. “So this is a thread of fate.”

“You can see one already?” Rabastan got up and walked to her side.

“It came when it was called, I think they both did.”

“So what do we do?” Rodolphus said “Cut it?”

It was tempting, but she knew that messing with fate was a tricky proposition. “Let’s wait, we don’t even know what it means to cut someone’s thread. We need to research it first.”

Her finger pressed against the other string of fate, and it filled her with that familiar sense of what made Harry  _ Harry _ , warmth, kindness, broom polish, Hogwarts food. She took her finger off the soft glowing purple thread and turned away. This one was different, it felt soft under her fingers.

It was interesting how fragile life could be, small threads with no greater width than a single strand of hair, she felt like she would disentangle them easily. If this was fate, how many strands of fate stood in the room behind the obsidian door?

She looked at the obsidian door, now quiet, the music of the library gone, she could see the dull glow suffuse the back of the library, an ambient purple that used to signal the wards to her, but it signaled her duty to this family’s barter.

She belonged here now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add more filler to this chapter before I posted it but I kept moving further and further away from it with the narrative, so I kept putting it off.
> 
> If you watched Crimes of Grindelwald you know all about our girl Leta LeStrange, so we'll really get into that before we hit the climax, should be in the next few chapters. There will be a lot of domesticity between our triad in the next post, please look forward to it.
> 
> Not abandoned, just incredibly busy and hate editing lmao.


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